"perceptible" poems
Do not glance at the answers of your classmates.
I do not mean this in a strictly literal sense.
Do not glance at the answers of your classmates.
This is a reflection of Ego, the morality of a copier:
Seeking the easy way out; without personal gain.
Self-defeating in the truest sense of the term.
Those who concern themselves with the affairs of others
shall forever condemn themselves to a sort of cognitive hell.
Do not concern thyself with the lives of others;
you have thy own path to walk.
Those who seek overtly to alter the affairs of others
usually presume or at least condescend
and in the process of doing so
allow themselves to go astray.
Do not glance at the tests on your classmates desk;
what is worse: to know you are wrong, or to deny to yourself your ignorance?
Do not look unto others for answers for your problems
for they cannot know what battles you fight each day.
Look inwards for deeper understanding
for it is thy prism that is responsible for thy spectrum
which in turn is responsible for your perceptible reality.
The truest of teachers do not claim to be so,
the truest of scholars do not simply attend formal classes
the trust of sages claim not their wisdom,
the truest of wisdom seems paradoxical.
Look not unto thy peers for the standards to which to hold thyself.
If this seems to be selfish or self serving,
I wish to remind
Illusion is begun with "I"
and "I" is a temporary vessel.
Thy body knows thy path;
It is thy vessel; it has a compass.
Follow your passions while you still can.
Begin thy Magnum Opus.
Nothing else matters.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
1575
The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings—
Like fallow Article—
And not a song pervade his Lips—
Or none perceptible.
His small Umbrella quaintly halved
Describing in the Air
An Arc alike inscrutable
Elate Philosopher.
Deputed from what Firmament—
Of what Astute Abode—
Empowered with what Malignity
Auspiciously withheld—
To his adroit Creator
Acribe no less the praise—
Beneficent, believe me,
His Eccentricities—
4k
she served me iced tea
from her porch
the smell of heavenly magnolia lingered,
like her locked up emotions
she was delicately bruised
but I would not rush her
no canary could I let her be
recuperation would come in ones
unguarded moments.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
an old familiar,
an adversary of the first degree,
when we wrestle,
me and this god
disguised as an angel disguised as man,
the door to where we tangle,
clicks shut with a perceptible oval sounding,
a trumpet announcing commencement of the festivities,
that we are
Occupado
no stray observers permitted in,
the room entrances locked,
someone's two hands upon each temple,
(cannot be mine, for)
inside we combat literally,
"mano-a-mano"
hand to hand,
word to word,
gradually, continuously,
up close and personally,
one on
One
over the course of a lifetime,
each battle named,
famously borrowed and thus recorded,
Agincourt, Waterloo, Gettysburg, Leningrad, Ðiên Biên Phú,
for the record keeping purposes of our unforgiving ******
historian
the rules of engagement somewhat flexible,
biting, choking, eye gouging,
kicking when down, not just legal,
encouraged, no holds barred,
when we wrestle,
the dirtier the
better
take turns declaring a victor,
for that matters little, truly,
just a record keeping notation,
the battle and its aftermath,
the waves of pain inflicted,
the casualty count engorged,
is the greatest glory,
dans une manière de
parler
though sent away the children,
our earthly goods,
designating them purportedly,
non-combatants observers,
yet 'no rules' meant
they could be accidentally drawn in,
non-combatant status does not prevent them
from being freely captured or
killed
the conflict ongoing,
no one ever calls for a truce,
for both unequal adversaries know,
no quarter will ere be given,
and though the tide shifts,
each individual battle produces as always,
a winner and a
loser
noisy affairs,
long after the battle,
the slain yet scream,
perhaps I am confused,
perhaps it is the day's survivors,
announcing that sadly,
they are still
alive
it must be the latter,
for here I am writing and recording,
and though alone,
I hear an ever growing louder,
gouging sine wave scream piercing,
daring my soul to leave my wracked
body
for though mortal wounded,
I am therefore
both dead and alive,
but which more so,
none can surely
say
this conflict remains
unconcluded
the pain in my hip, now
everywhere,
my Jacob, now, Israel,
marker
so visible even if itself,
unseen
3:59am
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
Melancholic misadventures and misanthropic moments make meeting men more and more meaningless,
Meaning less and less to those who undress to convene in the act of adulterated ***
Flex:
Point!
Sit down,
Smoke a joint,
Go to sleep,
Work,
Eat,
Wash
(sometimes, not too often)
Feign attraction
and smile with your eyes as you die on the inside
Darkness outside
Whilst wintery winds whistle,
the worldly-wise whittle on and on in their wordy way of the other-worldly wonders they have witnessed.
We can but wish that their wily whispers will soon diminish with the melting snow
Or else go,
Turn your back on all that you lack before you step on a crack, break that back and see it refract through the prism of the microcosm of your mind
Colour-blind
Lost
Trying to find
Be found
My heart beats yet I hear no sound
As plasma pumps passionately through my pallid passages and I ponder partially perceptible pursuits that preside in my past
Digging deep down into the depths of my ***** deeds discloses a discerning dichotomous divulgence of doctrine and dogma
Two mothers
Three brothers
One sister
And a whole load of Misters!
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
He's been through this before
Writer's block
No, not that
But the feeling of it
Applied to life
As a whole
All's dank near the dream
The dream
That which we all have
Dreams of our lives
Dreams of our lies
As we abandon all good and evil
In our search for stability
What we seek
shining nameless
walking out of the world
we chase it
visualize it
black on glowing grey
the green light deferred for a grey one
It walks, then runs.
From these dreams
the witness
turns aside
constantly
throughout his life
the witness runs
the distance grows
the impossibility is perceptible
We know what is happening
We are all witnesses
yet we do not know the solution
so we watch on
the arid climate of our world scorched by our own infallibility
our race
the one we share as inhabitants of this earth
the one drawn as a cartoon image of itself
drawn in its own image
redrawn, modernized
The traveller waits on the shores of our beach
He beckons to the shadows in the distance
He calls out, warmly
like a father to his son
He calls once more
He calls no more
The traveller waits
I wish to call out to the traveller
I wish to exclaim
'disguise not your battered soul'
I wish to comfort
But I cannot
I am in the distance
My limbs will not carry me in that direction
I am in the distance
amongst a flock of martyred guns
in our digital world, a blank text box is a blank page.
we need not think about what we will write
we need not think.
yet we are human.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
Shiny bricks and skeins of yellow grass
Barely perceptible colours
Hung with liquid haze
Dog **** and thunder
Heavy close and thick
Miasma
Clings to sweat
Running with drizzle
Clings to damp
Drowning the pores of the skin
Making collars clinging sticky
Rubbing and abrasive
In view of the towering flats
The greyly awaiting wait
Standing at the bus stop
Speaking quiet weather talk
In the distantly English way
So safely meaningless
This polite evasion
Ignores their damp dilemma
Soon, as they sit inside the bus
These bodies shall steam
Like cattle in a byre
Kids hang around the shops
Emptying and kicking cans
The younger ones
Run and shout manically
Their elders spit
And swear casually
All hoods and shadows
Asking adults to buy them lager
Because they can't get served at the "offie"
Rain changes nothing here
A bedroom guitar plays
Weakly electric
And the Turneresque sky
Swallows the sound whole and flat
Sophisticated trash
Crying into a cloudy breast
Shaded darkly round
Full and swollen
Grey and sodden
The distant rumbling
Tumbling closer to home
By Phil Roberts
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
We decided to take a walk.
If the moon and stars still existed,
they were hidden behind clouds.
Then a fog hit us like a wave, a cloud
that had run out of gas and crashed on us,
to further shrink the perceptible world.
Ordinary, walking people became vague
phantoms that could loom, in film noir
black and white out of the fog,
suddenly sharpen and colorize,
only to disappear again in moments.
Sounds, out of sync, or garbled, came sharply
from odd angles, turning that fifth sense unreliable.
Noises, at first muted, were abruptly amplified as
if the hand of that ghostly vapor ran a soundboard.
A man, moving in stalker-like silence, clops,
like a clydesdale on cobblestone as he passes close.
I half expected a distant fog horn to announce
the passing of a ghost ship where all be welcome.
Feb 1, 2022
Feb 1, 2022 at 5:23 AM UTC
270
One Life of so much Consequence!
Yet I—for it—would pay—
My Soul’s entire income—
In ceaseless—salary—
One Pearl—to me—so signal—
That I would instant dive—
Although—I knew—to take it—
Would cost me—just a life!
The Sea is full—I know it!
That—does not blur my Gem!
It burns—distinct from all the row—
Intact—in Diadem!
The life is thick—I know it!
Yet—not so dense a crowd—
But Monarchs—are perceptible—
Far down the dustiest Road!
1.6k
(My daughter Suzanna Christy dance on 15th August 2011)
I saw her dancing thro’ the peep hole of my heart,
My person was marooned beyond her person,
She called me thro’ the autumnal breeze,
And I was caught in the stormy wind within.
It was the day that she’d been called for a dance,
And the stage had been breathing fragrance and excitement;
Yet here I was caged not to fly out to witness her dance.
I let my soul float on its wings reaching her dancing arena.
My soul watched her dance ‘midst of tiny blooms,
And she looked the dazzling star of the cosmic garden.
Her jingling steps thrilled my soul and I shouted in joy,
The fluttering of her eye lashes pinched my excitement,
The melody born of heart travelled thro’ her tongue
Reminded of my joy born when she’d uttered ‘Dad’.
Her mom too was in the cradle of joy, yet far from her presence
And she’d been writing words of joy in her heart
For the little fragrant dance had traversed into her soul.
We’d imbibed joy ineffable when we watched her dance with our souls.
For she‘s always God’s Gift unto us to live in joy.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 11:26 AM UTC
The world will follow your steps
Discovering the mysteries of roses
Emerged from your footsteps
It’ll watch the image where
Your face will nourish
The cost of their glutton
They will see in your forehead
The blood-dots under epidermis
The prints of Sagittarius constellation
Amidst the shores of emerald sparkling leafs
Life-giving leafs
Remained after a serial blasts
They’ll wander
They’ll build the Tabernacle for their progeny
They’ll learn the lesson
The primordial one
They have forgotten through eons
And reunion with the ether-ic double
Somewhere wandering
In the vast space of cosmos
The visible and invisible
The perceptible and imperceptible
They will understand that they are now
Hardly human to rejoice in their small community
Everything will be different
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 7:39 AM UTC
mediante la obscuridad , escondes el deseo ,
tu imagen de fria e inalcanzable , contrasta con
la humedad perceptible entre tus piernas .
bajo el relieve , el pliegue erogeno , en tu ropa intima ,
tu piel erizada bajo mis dedos tibios y decididos .
la reaccion aterida de tu piel erizandose ,
al mirar el fuego en mis ojos .
el vaticinio del desden post coitum , la humedad en mi pelvis , tu aroma en torno al tornillo que sostiene mi vida , la humedad en mi pelvis ,
rastro de tu cabalgata en mi regazo agradecido .
lo lascivo de tus ojos sosteniendo mi mirada ,
recorrer con mis dedos , las inperfeciones de tu piel
lo imposible de tu belleza , la certeza de tu deseo , la febril mirada
el eco en mi cabeza , que repite una cantinela , la perorata del perdedor
buscando certeza , el garre firme de tus manos , sosteniendo las mias
el eco en mi cabeza que repite , LUCKY ******* , COMO UN MANTRA DE FUERZA .
repitiendo ecos de torzion , lazos de deseo entre vistazos de
tus ojos bellos , ecos del perdedor , para tener un recuerdo de ese momento de esa fantasia .
tu ferocidad contrasta con lo frio de tu piel , y la frialdad con
que diriges tus ojos como laser .
mediante la obscuridad que despliegas para esconder el
deseo postumo .
ahogados los clamores de tu ****** , vuelves al juego , donde la indiferencia y la frialdad son tu moneda de cambio .
solo que en tus ojos , llevas aun rastros del fuego que sacas de mi alma
de mis entrañas de mis genitales , asi te llevas lo mejor de mi ,
mi semilla mi sudor y mi alma , entre tus piernas y en tus uñas un poco de mi piel , y en tu mente mi recuerdo , el eco funesto de haber amado y seguir amando a un loser ,
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 2:43 AM UTC
the aperture opens
low watt bulb hanging on a chain
rocks slowly in a perceptible breeze coming
from a hole in the wall
a dark odor permeates the room
time has been spent here
desperation has sweated its own flavor of fear in this room
laughter that had no joy has spent hours spilled on the floor
evil has romanced good and plundered its favors
on the stained mattress in the corner
left its once ****** form heaving with
the ****** taste of hedonistic self destruction
slow and pure
pleasured for her like a ribbed one
lubed with promises of a hot carnival of sated fantasy
the aperture closes slowly
the view fades into a single grey line
of wary perception
moments tick by
as the room changes faces
the aperture forced open by her deft fingers
spun monkeynuts she is seeking something to occupy her madness with
or she will end up like the rest in the mirror picking skin
'oh god, please don't let me be a skin picker'
she whispers over and over
as she prys and pulls at the thin metal covering
at the thin eyelid of perception
this perception chain
one moment of reality spawns the next
its clarity the passed on poisoned gene pool of all your yesterdays
the languid drifting from year to year
all the treasures gathered turned to dusty memory
all the lovers fled along the ever enduring wind of change
and as your days have burned slowly down
you begin to realize that each had its place in
the tapestry of your life
and here in this last room of your life
you come face to face with what you have created
and it is unrecognizable to your mind
the walls are covered by ever mutating versions
of a dope shooters regrets
of a spike house roll call of thouse who have cashed in
and are now remembered only by there survivors
i open my eye
and look about in the shadow
and leave you there
because you were never there
you discarded your real self in a spent ****** needle
in the alley behind our once happy home
along with the used ******
from your
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
Frisked at customs...sphere-d Muzak...
upped and away...rife, with non address.
Photonic personification...perceptible, yet...
imperceptible gestures Godspeed-ed--
sheer forgetfulness...the genius of remembrance--
Expiration Dates.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
*There are moments when it’s barely perceptible
An incessant itchy scratch creasing the soul’s walls
Culminating into sparkly luminescent smiles
Dancing eerily on a day dreamer’s visage
Or a soft pain lodged deep into the abyss of the soul
A laceration to the soul
That throbs rhythmically almost in tandem
To the heart’s diehard throb
When it’s too overwhelming a circumstance
Them eyes become awash with emotion riddled tears
Cascading in an unheralded kind of way
Down the glorious hallways of faceless facades.*
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
gently interrupted by velvet mountains
burnt sienna soil stretches through olive trees
that lift their limbs toward blue expanse
where pillowy clouds drift with ease
shadows lengthen as the sun spreads
a warmth perceptible to the view
energy and life pouring into ripening fruit
soon harvest gathering will be due
tracks of vehicles between the rows
show signs of tending that's been done
through summer's growing season
and years before when they were begun
saplings planted there with care
by tanned, robust yet gentle hands
have grown taller year by year
where now a stately orchard stands
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
I am an aristocrat.
The kind that molds and seams sentences,
one word upon another as if they were ancient incantations
taught to the younglings of Native American tribes. Generations upon generations.
I’m well spoken.
Can’t you tell? The way I’ve found that happy medium between the whimper and the whine?
I won’t be a bother. No, no, if you want me to kneel for you, I’m the frayed ends of your welcome rug. Sing you a song?
I am your mobile radio.
Tap my dials, I’ll make you squeal
with delight in the evening light.
Tip, turn
She was an American girl.
You yell, you scream.
I’m a sweet talker.
I’ll make you slit your eyes with pretend apprehension and the slightest, least perceptible grin I’ve ever witnessed performed by a member of humankind.
Oh, you know I’m never lonely.
Never have I spent minutes in the corner
scrounging for the few innocent nickels I’ve left to
maneuver claws and
obtain my purity.
No, my pockets are full.
Full of falling stars.
And not even just my front ones. I’ve got so many that it’s starting to affect my strut so people notice and congratulate me on my confident and masculine demeanor.
I was told to save them for a rainy day.
But I’m rain repellant.
That billowing storm wouldn’t dare approach me.
There is a drought,
and it’s deliberate.
Here, have a few of my stars.
I’m a real winner, and I’m living it large.
Touch me, I’m golden.
I am a fighter.
I am a winner.
So long, reflection, I’m off to woo the world.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
Faint(adjective)- (of a sight, smell, chance, or sound) barely perceptible,
Like the beating of a broken heart being drowned out by
Screaming behind closed doors. The redness that circles
Around the crying eyes you use concealer to hide behind.
Faint as the sun shimmering over your receding silhouette
As you pass just beyond the horizon line, away from me.
Faint chances of survival, when fifty yellow-gold and black
Rosary beads hang free around the necks of those who surround you.
The tinge of iron you smell as your blood pools in your mouth, but
The will to never faint, as in fall to the ground in front of thirsty crowds.
Faint thoughts of happiness that arrive like butterflies, though
They never land long enough to wrap your arms around.
A faint pulse after chasing a feeling through a needle.
Faint, like the beauty of life being burned away. Ever faint
Are the screams of smoldering redwood trees.
The faint spinning of the globe, balanced on an invisible finger.
Jan 10, 2022
Jan 10, 2022 at 2:32 PM UTC
Alone, I am restricted to silence,
In your presence, I worship your voice,
I close my eyes,
to feel,
to decipher,
Every sound you make.
My lips touch yours, and the meaning of life is clear,
In a life of turbulence, we as one become an oasis of serenity,
You define me,
Through this my soul flourishes.
Without you, tranquility shall be disturbed,
A burden from this world is lifted off from my shoulders,
Replaced with my lover’s arms.
This is love as we know it.
Alone, I am restricted to silence,
In your presence, I worship you.
The love between us;
palpable.
Only lovers could grasp the depth,
Only we can feel the warmth.
The love between us;
perceptible.
You can hear the love in my words,
I can taste the love upon your lips.
The love between us;
ignites when we become one.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
She continued to walk on
Towards the light that resonated with hers;
Unrecognised by the world,
A pleasant titter of confidence radiated off her.
As she approached the source of light,
A small light only perceptible
Because of the dominant darkness,
The darkness of shattered hearts and faiths;
There, she realized that there stood a wall,
The wall of life as it was known,
The wall which divided the achievers from the rest
A faintly painted, thinly segregating wall;
She didn't know,
But she followed a unique way,
A brilliant mind with a million world changing thoughts
Ready to project all her thoughts on this wall of life,
A wall too small to accommodate all her thoughts
Thus painting the wall vibrantly with her thoughts,
Making the light around
A dominant sight,
Dominant enough to lift her up
And flung her over to the achievers' side
Now she stood bold,
Recognized by the world
A predominantly large and hurdled world.
Yet with that radiating confidence,
She moved ahead,
Leaping forward with no more feelings of doubt or distress,
But only to motivate her fellow populace,
The ones still on the other side,
To follow their own lights,
And not to be lead astray.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
I sit upon an tall bar stool and watch them play.
The air is humid and full of mosquitoes.
One falls into my cocktail and writhes about in what I like to think is terror. Really its just instinct, electrical signals firing through the body of something small and insignificant.
Though its all too easy to think that.
My eyes and attention stray from those I had been previously observing. Drawn to the glass as though it were a beacon.
"Hello little guy." I whisper into my glass. "Want me to help you?"
I laugh quietly to myself for a moment, then down the contents. "A new page tonight?" I ask myself mockingly.
Smoke is billowing into the dimming sky. It is far away, but almost perceptible to my nostrils.
I wonder: is anyone burning? Perhaps a once happy family. Too far away for me to help anyhow. Even though the desire is there.
Hopefully it works out how I hope it will.
I regress with closed eyes back to the day a relation brought home a retriever puppy. Remembering how I had kicked it like one would a football to make it stop crying.
Such bad behaviour. Deserving a beating that. Its a shame my relative was such a soft-hearted one. More punishment would have been deserved.
My eyes open and dart back to the place I was watching before. I notice they're gone.
Playing a childish game near the poolside. One falls into the pool and splashes about furiously. No one is around to help it.
I stand up and walk over.
A look of terror, perhaps hope, appears on its face as it looks up at me. I know better of course.
Really its just instinct, electrical signals firing through the body of something small and insignificant.
After all,
The mosquito,
Fire,
Dog...
It all just depends on personal perspective.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
Once there was a story
About a man who has no glory
His eyes can't even see the sun
Supposed to knows not the meaning of fun
But he never buried hate into his heart
Instead, he seeded love from the start
Gentle Prayers though darkness invades a sunny sky
Knowing the sun will show, when life says goodbye
His story was written in a very
Inspiring golden book
Only perceptible to those
Whose heart knows... how to truly look...
8:11 PM
April 25, 2016
Mysterious_aries
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC
i can't exist
yet here i sit
pondering and wondrous
drums pound and clang
my heart the same
perceptible, still undertrained
i cannot lie
but always try
plunging over, horrified
so here no more
and there not for
pejorative excelsior
I've written less
to curb excess
predominant post-modernists
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC