"placating" poems
My way to hell was paved from his heaven,
Life is now a crossroads of shores.
Destiny has changed its destination,
Blown away by the gust of fabrications.
My million sorrows, all rebelling for civility,
Are lost in my mistake.
I can mull now or forever,
Instead I wait for you, unwearyingly.
I walk on sand of memories, patiently;
My patience amazingly placating me,
Source anonymous, I breathe in my patience.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
i
you say i am honestly not the same person
i say one day i woke up honest
and i do not know how to undo experience
my own eyes and ears and nose and mouth
cannot be undone at the moment
how do you do it?
push that pressure to the back of your mind
like that
how do you all manage to laugh with a straight face
at things that you know aren't really funny
i can't fathom it. where you go
when you are stomping and ripping
and ****** and jeering
and laughing and running
it's exhausting to watch you
ii
i apologize if it doesn't make sense
that i can't play along
but playing along
doesn't make sense
i could never win a grammy
with this tight lipped smile
laughing at the expense of others
makes me feel more like a paparazzi
placating insecurities for currency
leeching off the vulnerability
you may not think i'm smart but
i am smart enough to know this is not 'normal'
and there is nothing wrong with staring at you in the rearview
and saying "i wish that was really sarcasm"
i'll tell you the truth
and you don't have to like it
and you don't have to like me
and i don't have to like you
because if there's one thing i know about myself
it's that i don't dislike anybody
until they show off their callousness
hoping it's the right party trick
to gain respect
iii
we watch comedy tv, and you are worried
by the way my spine cracks
when i let out a uncontrollable laugh
dragging on, beginning to spill, and as i try to quell it
my whole body shakes with the pressure
of it bubbling inside of me
you feel all of this beside of me
a small volcano with a bent back
quaking absorbed by pillows and flowers and cushions
not quite right for you
wondering why i couldn't laugh like this earlier
when we were not alone
everyone is looking for something more porous
more willing to let in effortlessly
and absorb tirelessly
that can simply laugh like a stream bubbles
and let go of the undercurrent
yet we are sharp and uneven and course like logs
and the weight of our actions carries much further
being shunted downstream by tides of gravity
every intention runs it's course
every intention speaks volumes
if you feel that in your core
every day you will uncontrollably think of how
every intention defines the quality of the laughter
stuck in someone else's head
and you will save it for things that are funny
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 4:26 AM UTC
Determined petals
Pierce the snow,
Refusing to wait.
Shades of violet,
Red, then yellow;
Mocking folded crepe paper,
On white marble floors
Advancing to overtake the scene;
An insurgent force,
So lithe, so pure.
Conquering in swaths,
With delicate bravado,
As if to challenge
The old mans icy grip,
While placating senses
Of the observant few;
Such a display
Of resistance,
To winter's rule
Now, slowly waning;
As the moments nigh,
But will return once again,
To defy a February's
Cruelty.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
#
shackled to a notion
rubbing through wrists
in rusted remains
of beautifully easy
it's a slow bleed
through insults slung
in fear the unmaliciois
only noticed in hindsight
calling the innocent a *****
doesn't breed hate from love
the duke-yeilding cowardly lion
flings back like a monkey
##
breaststroking a marathon in tears
wading through pain I never caused
pelted with double-barrelled denial
THIS IS NOT WEAKNESS
there is no waver on my solid ground
torn flesh and compound fractures
cannot break harder than history
still, gavel strikes
in sucker punched cracked ribs
that look like a past that ain't mine
###
keep hacking off pieces
maybe I'll fit into those pretty boxes
your liars left as gifts
nasty reminders that trust has sharp teeth
maybe that's just you
biting back any hand that gets too close
pandering in placating platitudes
ain't my bag
flattery fails to flounce from unfettered friends
####
can't be beat into submission
with unspoken broken rules
can't run from a truth in plain view
this is what it looks like
to believe what you know over
what you've lived
I'm not running
I'm not biting back
I'm not going anywhere
then again, why would I
I'm not the one afraid to love you
https://soundcloud.com/user-166761247/a-fourth-in-time-to-cracked-selections-of-music
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 8:04 AM UTC
it’s been quite some time
absence creating a fondness
only the heart can understand
blank screen calling
screaming to be invited back
into the fold of daily life
so here I sit
placating the cyber paper –
it’s been too long since last time
and I strain to find reason
for this medium
substance within flowery language
and metaphor
pretending to grasp the vernacular –
it’s getting harder to care
why waste time expressing the same
memories and personal imagery
as everyone else
in a form older than English
eurocentric ethnocentrism –
it’s not even practical anymore as a stress relief
nonspecific pressure to create
seeking likes and hearts as opposed to seeking a release
and freedom
posting poems as a pothead –
it’s going to be alright
this is just another phase or passing fancy
the plight of an artist is to find himself isolated
in self-doubt and unrealized potential
all the while desperately attempting to create something
to make everyone love you
all the while knowing
there is no comfort –
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
Placing the bandaid
on top of the next.
Placating my irrational thoughts,
but all so fleeting.
I'm happy. Then...
the wounds peak through,
I know these outside influences
whether drugs or relationships won't hold up
in the ultimate goal -
the real happiness quantifier.
That happiness
Beautiful soulful careless laughter
Give me that happiness.
Sing and dance,
but not at the expense of my lungs and kidneys.
Talk about something you know
For you.
Intrinsically fascinating,
Not fabricating lies based on ideas
for Others to like you.
Stop pleasing others for their expense.
Please yourself through ridding
Yourself of dense
Self pitying thoughts and
Push-over tendencies
Rejection fearing
and Stop baring these heavy suicidal thoughts.
Learn
To appreciate your worth,
You have a gift of
Kindness, intelligence, mindfulness.
I love myself
Or at least I'm learning to
and the healthy way.
By myself.
And I won't ask your opinion, is that okay?
Yeah I'm still learning.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
I’m ready for revolution
there won't be no midnight Revere
but let me tell you, it’s coming
cause I’ve had just about too many nights
dreaming dreams that ain’t mine
I go to bed in hollow bird-bone shackles
dreaming the world is telling me to fly
but only South, cause that’s where I’ll be successful
...I know success is really flying North and coming out alive
so when I wake
I get a book for a pillow and a pencil paper night stand
cause I’ve just been thinking its my time to take a stand
so here I stand
fluttering limbs and a nervous system that’s **** nervous
but I’m here
for it’s time that I tell my story
it’s time that I know who I am
I am done sleepwalking in the dreams of others -
unconscious of my own conscience
this is my manifesto
to reclaim my crumpled dreams from a forgotten pocket,
to spread them out before me and point where I’m going to go
this is my manifesto
to forget about the past, and the future
to dance to good music
to tell a girl when she’s beautiful
and to have the courage to cry
this is my manifesto
to speak loud
run fast
to love hard
and to let go
for that is all I must do
let go of the placating promises that keep my dreams anchored in tomorrow
push off from the shore
and let the very current that courses through my veins
carry me out to sea
for there is an ocean.. waiting for me
an entire world in which I get to sail in whatever direction I please
so please, come with me
push off from the shore with your own manifesto at the helm
and we won’t sail together,
but when we pass, I’ll wave.
and you’ll wave too.
for we both know that the ocean is ours,
and we’re just dreaming after all
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
Lonely man, living like
a drifting ******* crumb
floating
in
a
bowl
of
soup.
The table is filled with
ice cream hearts
melting
slowly
into
oblivion.
It will come, this death.
It will proclaim
its victory
as if it was
a triumphant
gladiator in the
arena
of
goodbye.
And still they say that every day
is the best medicine to swallow.
Xenophobic androids
bleating
their
inconsistent
beliefs.
Change is real.
It defines
who we have been.
And one wonders why the
scratching bees are silent?
Have they lost their focus?
That must be it.
The focus.
The never staying
hum-drum of
placating
the
masses.
Grieving man, who
sits at the table
and
pounds
his
hands
into
the
fire.
Let the burning begin.
Put on the tombstone,
"Not here anymore."
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 4:15 PM UTC
You are both the light which chases my old shadows and the breath that snuffs out my flickering candle.
My duties require feeding your warm glow with my left while placating the your angry breath with my right.
I am in. Committed in love
With you.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
#
Nearly everything worthwhile
has some form of a risk attached to it,
and the things that we want most,
often come at the greatest cost.
The less the cost is to us,
and the greater guarantee of no risk..
the more palatable
and placating the result becomes.
A jewel such as you need not
embed itself into dirt
in order to try to feel comfortable,
secure..
asleep.
#
Dec 20, 2021
Dec 20, 2021 at 5:48 PM UTC
At 3 a.m.
I’m awake still.
Of this ashen night
I’ve not had my fill.
Apparently all
Apathy congeals
As hours elapse
And at last justifies
Procrastination;
Placating initially,
Shortly producing
My pretty folly
This habitual hang-up
Helps only those who
Have the predisposition
To hang themselves too.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 6:25 AM UTC
she was hopping hopscotch with the children in the sunset lawn,
At the dusk her pellucid eyes would glare the intense orange..
She was hopping from one rectangle to another as he was peering love through his eyes,
The sunset veils her shadow:
Her hair vacillating on her chin and his eyes blink on her subtle smile,
She sprawled her legs at the end of the box that is drawn on the land,
She sees the rested stone through the space of her legs,
And her immediate turnabout titillated him,
horripilations tickled his flesh,
Sprawling,spanning and love placating:
Thus Susurrus smile spake to him,
She Shouted a few flying syllables as she picks the stone in the celestial joy,
Subtle zephyr billowing on her confluenced lips,
The evening zephyr as cold as her breath,
He saw her only once,but he remembers every subtle detail infinitesimally..
He only saw her once,but he couldn't forget the voice of her eyes forever...
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
The fact of the matter is that you
Choose to believe
There's no reprieve
From this constant, continual...
Consistent deceit
This contraceptive perception
Manifesting what you believe
'What happens once will come again'
From that there's no relief
That which you take heed from
Is imprinted on your skin
As if you can't reach within
For matters intimate
Second guessing and stressing
While vacantly sedated
Placating under false pretenses
-Keeping sated
-Faded
Like you were the product
Of this aftermath
Attacking the apt capability
Of all you lack
-Underhanded
In the most subtle approach
This perpetual cognizant apparition
Of these ghosts
Furthermore
They boast and beg recognition
Putting prescriptions to their name
Like defacing prepositions
Could well esteem their fame
I maintain that I refuse
To be a product of the masses
Drifting whimsically and making victims From my caprices
The end result of my fate
Never created hate
Only this conditioned position
From which I now must escape
I'd rather sit
Listen and contemplate
Than justify my shame
I'll take the pain
Of my twisted thoughts
Before letting them run astray
No one pray for me
Because I've done this once before
And sanction I will find
Within this mind
Before I hit the floor
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
We speak, or rather you spoke
I listened
You'll be fine, you'll do great
You've got so much going for you
I never understood why you said that
Maybe just placating
Weary little broken boy toy me
What good was I, could hardly speak
Or look at faces, just shoes
All shame rotting away
In death trap little future overdose room
More ***** than brain
Felt skin sloughing off
Hair falling out dead anyway
While cancer ate away ulcerous stomach
When looked in mirror
Only saw death, reaving reaper
His scythe my smashed absinthe bottle
****** X marks the spot where
I drag everyone down with me
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
You want to love me.
You want to taste my fear,
and cure
my insecurity.
What you hold about me
seems dear
when it's in your pocket
and
close.
as a child
when the ice-cream truck rolls around.
The looping rhythm
of every day
is a clear sign
that you
need to move
and hold me more.
I **** your *******
lap at your legs,
crumble in your words,
erupt in your anger,
and you think I need you,
and I relish
in you needing that
needing.
But then the need bites,
rips,
destroys,
and the black hole of our apartment
is reality
when you sleep
and hear me snore.
You know that i will get fat
when I am older,
and I know that you will slowly
become bitter
as raspberries;
Me thinking you're ripe
and perfect,
when you're holding in so much
and don't
even
know
it.
Don't touch
those broken stars.
Don't try to cup
my nebulas
in your hands,
or grip
my exploding novas
into concrete baseballs.
They cannot be hurled into oblivion
to make a sizeable dent
in eternity.
They burn
and crush you.
And I whiff
at your beautiful pitches.
Your words crumble,
and slither,
when they are meant
to soothe
and restructure.
My love
is horrible,
stupid,
and placating,
because I made ramen noodles for two
and you ate them
because it was a sweet thing to do
and that was the only reason
you ate them.
On the way down,
those noodles say that my love
is the best love,
but poison
in your gut.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
I'm bending at an impossible angle.
Over backwards,
to appease such erroneous behavior.
An implausible feat,
to gain a few meager feet.
Eye contact
As our bodies touch.
Once again,
I've become the malleable traitor.
Bending over backwards,
placating your itchy trigger finger.
That's why I'll take you back.
Oh no, that's the price I must pay.
With nothing else to give.
I'll spread my confession.
I could almost taste the anger,
lingering on my tongue.
A paper thin relationship,
ripped with a flick of the wrist.
I should leave you with nothing,
instead I'm giving you my heart on a silver plate.
Oh no, that's why I'll take you back.
Oh no, that's the price I must pay.
Oh no, it will be alright...
if I give you nothing to shake off...
I'll be alright.
Just have to remember,
your words cut like knifes.
Into my skin, carving lines.
Ownership marks.
MINE
There's several ways to thinking about.
Deriving it according to principles and theories.
Remembering there's tomorrow,
and a day after...
No matter what happens, will you take responsibility?
Oh no, that's why I'll take you back.
Oh no, that's the price I must pay.
Oh no, it will be alright...
Fading into a blue ball of anxiety...
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
six slick sardines
swim through silky
ocean blue satin thoughts
chromatea cradled cranium
containing calcified continueums and coral reefs
washing wishes wonderful
on silicon sand chipped island shores
with pious palm pods
placating pontificating
poppinjays...
writing, wriggling,
morning memories...that
meander through a mountainless mind....mine
after too many mojito's on the morrow...
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC
Benedictine Warlords
Hold ceremonies in ballrooms
Tie knots in dying children’s hair
Demarking havoc to succumb
Red X-es on trees
Placating these
Monsters
These scumbags
These treasons
Against a muck they scoured
A much maligned superfluity
Of words, of thoughts
Of feelings
Of devotion
Sympathy
What of it?
You’ve heard my ideas on living
You’ve killed my attempts
Superavero
Veni
Superavero
Now go, before you learn what life is
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 7:12 PM UTC
The snow drops keep coming
Insisting their way
Through the matted detritus
of memories;
A dolls arm with a biroed tattoo
& flattened empty
colour points
Of crisp packets fading,
Wind-blown papers
& plastic ragged shamblings
Decorating the hedges
Sprawling with thorns and freedom
& the snow drops keep coming
The snow drops keep coming
Placating the gardener
Now sitting benignly
Tending own life
& net curtains blur the sepia view
Of the children once playing
Of the beer cans and bricks
& the solitary shoe nest
& the apple tree still giving
Now casting wasp grass cocktails,
& the clichéd swinging gate
Warns of a dog dead before Lennon
& the milk bottle earwig crèche
Sits quiet beside the snow drops
lamenting
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 2:38 AM UTC
Roses are red, violets are blue,
love left unsaid, is much more true,
than lies lips lay, on yearning ears,
for words delay, love's yonder years,
from taking place, upon our plates,
in feast of grace, and Tantric traits.
The center piece, of table tall,
a red rose wreath, that blooms in fall,
for in summer, amidst sun's tryst,
vintage vesture, would be amiss.
Amongst fed flames, and wilting wax,
its beauty tames, the burned boar's racks,
from stretching thin, the table's cloth,
placating then, what wrath has wrought.
Round the setting, span bands of birch,
guitars fretting, torn tunes in search,
of feathered feet, to wield their quills,
unite the beat, weld weary wills.
So listen wide, ***** up your eyes,
and take my pride, my petty sighs,
into your prance; I'll be in tow,
and we shall dance, 'til candles blow.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
The bourne conspiracy isn’t held in shades of reflected gray, but the raging current of rosewater.
Soldiers of fortune draped in dandelions uprooted from Napoleon’s farm.
Bronte’s web grows thick inhaling inherent rice.
Nonsense picked up in jabberwocky from a novelized wookiee.
IQ bound success clubs playing the most dangerous game, hunting Will.
Ents chopped and sold over borders, bought back sixfold as disassembled chairs.
Hard hitting lines of north Dallas long past the forty, placating the rules for larger shares.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 3:37 PM UTC
Head bowed to her chest.
In a chamber of darkness she's left.
She waits hiding in corners.
As only she can in her obsolete world.
Rocking fro and to.
For she's confused.
Apparently.
Phony facade.
Placating herself with her words.
She rarely speaks.
Her tongue is tied.
Her lips are stitched,
Eyes open wide.
She sits and she watches.
Keen and mean in observation.
He knows what she's about.
As only a loyal servant should.
A man servant.
She takes no prisoners.
He perceives her every thought.
Before each enters her head.
Her brain is full of fire.
Although her body nearly dead.
Slaughtered by love perhaps.
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
We've numbers in distress;
We've villains and scoundrels
In need of redress;
Choose any one of one thousand quests -
We're in desperate need of a Hero.
No call for a cape or cowl,
Hidden rings or magic swords;
We need action,
Not placating words -
From a righteous Hero.
Greece or Rome won't be the origin,
There may well be one in Oregon;
At this juncture we'll take anyone -
A home grown or welcome Hero.
We'll have truth without hyperbole,
Not disdain, but hearing dignity;
One to rise up, reach out, lift us
From the swamp of vanity.
We don't need Deus ex machina,
Or anything supernatural;
A woman or man,
Natural or choice,
A sister or brother,
To call us home;
To hear a voice say,
You're not alone.
Sep 19, 2019
Sep 19, 2019 at 10:44 AM UTC
Come home,
my mother's voice suggests along 2,581 kilometres of phone cabling.
Come home to the hazy heat
that beats off melting pavement and wilting plants,
to the smell of exhaust
squeezing between buildings
and suburbs and rush hour and neon lights,
Come home to the aggravated traffic
wending its way through concrete landscapes
eight lane snakes placating
the clack and hum of underground trains
packed with people and briefcases and beers and graffiti
spilling out onto the streets like cough syrup glugging out of the bottle.
You sound like you need to come home.
Nah, I'm good Ma,
because I don't know how to tell you
the city makes me feel trapped
a little creature with an anxious heart
boxed in by the tarseal and the fumes and the noise.
I like knowing the borders of a town
that doesn't stretch to the horizon
driving quietly on sleeping streets in the night time
and tracing the coastline with my feet in the water
I need the sky to touch the ground, not the ragged edges of a skyline
to walk until there's nothing
but me and the bush and the birds,
and the smell of mud and dirt and rain.
I like it here, I suggest along 2,581 kilometres of phone cabling,
but I do miss you.
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 4:27 AM UTC