"plausibility" poems
130
These are the days when Birds come back—
A very few—a Bird or two—
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies resume
The old—old sophistries of June—
A blue and gold mistake.
Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee—
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear—
And softly thro’ the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze—
Permit a child to join.
Thy sacred emblems to partake—
They consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!
5.3k
the most terrifying moment in the world
is to step into a love that pre-exists your soul
for the fear of crumbling the condition of dependence
whispers into the plausibility of a broken bond.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
One of the most humorous conditions that a creature could burden itself with is a somnambulant desire to be to it’s own liking .
Maxillary extrapolation although a positive political expectorant is likewise a practical partiality .
I prefer to be philanthropically phenological although rational impedance is my histophysiology . My present participle is practical pragmatism and tertiary transcendentalism . Xenoplasticly speaking I feel alone but plausibility is a probationer in reflective self awareness . Atrociously impetuous I proceeded amidst heinously horrendous heckledom . Adequate inflection is a relevant relative to retaliatory regression but I digress . Paraphernalia is a practitioner to plausibility’s cause and should be assimilated through cognizance not perfunctory preferentialism .
Hegelian humanitarianism must supersede political subterfugalism or all may be lost in quagmire .
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 3:48 AM UTC
Being real is hard
as opposed to being fake
as opposed to being bubbling plastic, mask this
look past my plausibility
soft body
teeth mouth throat
eyelashes,
heart
fake
styrofoam
empty
deserted
these eyes are what I have to offer now, these ears
If you had reached me earlier, I would've had more
to put at your disposal:
my devotion
my hands
my feet
my sanity
my presence in this day, for this conversation
my heart, soul, and chapstick
but I've said too much.
If you had reached me earlier
I swear I would've given you the rib-cage straight out of my chest
before your lips were halfway open and asking--
I know I would've been in your veins before fall
But I can't worry about your veins now,
I've opened too many of mine
and what I'm trying to say is honey,
My heart isn't full enough for me to pour it out to you every night.
You know I wish I could
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 7:13 PM UTC
There’s no place, for you
To land a hand
Even when I’m desperate
No place for your propaganda,
Because I’ve already been brainwashed by
All your ideology of Beat generation
You made it , congratulation, but you should ask:
How do I know find out about your scheme?
Well, you teach me on thing:
Inscrutability leads to plausibility.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
I thank you, overcast,
Though so many hold you in contempt,
I say to you, dear friend,
Those who are unable to find it within themselves,
To pay you with the respect due,
Shall never find appreciation in our universe.
The glorious sunshine,
The melancholic rain,
The rampaging rage of the vicious storm,
The frost and fear of the seeping, invading ice,
None of them remind me that I am alive as much as you do.
For you remind me that not all is sunshine,
Not all is the chagrin of the rain,
Not all is storm and violence,
Nor is it the freezing embrace of death,
No, the extremities of the seasons, the encompassing grasp of the weather,
None remind me of the trials and tribulations,
The brilliance and horrors,
The humility of life,
The chance,
The pure,
Mathematical,
Plausibility of my own existence.
It is you, overcast,
My dearest and most reliable companion.
It is you they shun,
For they describe you as boring,
Unmotivating,
Dull,
And I say to you,
As I say to them,
The depiction is wrong.
Not everything is in the extremes portrayed by the weather,
Nay, life is full of boredom,
No one experiences life to its fullest,
And those who think otherwise are fooling themselves.
It is you,
The greyness,
The unmoving,
The boredom,
That reminds me I am alive,
And will continue to live for however long I have left.
I promise you this overcast, I will appreciate you, for you keep me breathing.
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 1:44 PM UTC
Sacred feminine energy coursing through this restored, all encompassing treasury; the plausibility of cellular memory revealed through elemental vitality.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
Vocabulary
Bears imagism
Foundation
Imagery
Amplifies eloquence
Apache's tear
Metaphors
Stabilize meaning
Plausibility
Allegory
Visualizes enigma
Sammi Poe
Mar 17, 2012
Mar 17, 2012 at 9:45 AM UTC
Tired thoughts have taken over
Slacking on grammar
Word choice
Sentence structure
Originality
Plausibility
But you're still quick
And loud
In my sleepy brain and heart
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 9:40 AM UTC
Aren’t you amazed at the propagations of politics? But let us not become enraptured by the plausibility of oratory wonders. That which is palatable, yet unexpected, is revealed in spectacular semantics. The winds may blow the surface of grass from side-to-side, as we perch on the threshold of a new dawn, while rhetorical laughter echoes her hysterical shrieks in familial connectedness. We are truly on the brink of advancement – don’t you think? Scottish mist hangs her powerful head over the glens of Rannoch moor, in a manner which is ghostly atmospheric. The clearances of old will never be forgotten in the valley of Glencoe.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
Dejected and doleful I'm alive I'm a man, as you Carry me in your cradle
pour me out with your ladle into chicken noodle soup
Another time around and we've both had enough
But you dangle me more and I'm small
And although I Don't know what it means at all
it truly is all all
And it truly is mine
it's what I want it's and its what I need
So I do guess This is life
And survive
I know today and that's ok, new today
Hanging on with a trying grip
Little baby boy In his tiny careless nest
Nothing less
the rest Of your little baby boys And your little business men and your combed haired combed mind
In the soup of consumer culpability
and commercial tranquility
And I cannot wake from this happy soothing nightmare of more money and more mine more mine
But alas I awake and I do arise into peripheral plausibility of the nightmare that's mine the nightmare that's mine
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 2:50 AM UTC
Synchronic simple step
be
yonder, yo, go, no
go, si, go
on and on and on
… so yust so
yust to be we once went
we split, full moiety,
each
ac-
act-
act-ion -jello-timed- lobes
blobs plasmoieted mind
parabolic, by yah,
Arching fly call it, I got it,
call his name, yah who done
did done GOT
caught
the funny parts. Read the books.
Now. At this point, cognitive native
child formed in my mortal moment
per-ifery-wasery rules
secret se- per seance
sacred made knowledge,
state of knowing entered, left
ab-rupturously, grief, lief
left easy, re lief, sigh
good
grief. We were all
we- are Charlie Brown, forever
interrupted, as if once, however long ago,
we knew we were one thing,
then we knew we were merely
words between things you knew
and did not do.
and you know you imagined this is that.
The novel experience, this side.
Post-done and paid off.
Precautionary. Click.
Why not,
who is asking, hangs, as pregnant pause
über Þe olde excessive easing hook,
who are we, and what are we doing,
we who were to survive receiving
asked knowledge, the easy-does-it tree,
shows us the easy way, this way dis-eased.
The lie and the profundus is merely piercing.
Flatten the spikes, be atop the bed of nails.
Wait. Funda-mental, bottom mind, first
id-ego otherwise mind,
frame a being, be a
one, and not the other,
here, there, there, it's okeh, eh, ok?
E-see easing easy living, being been done,
doing all that old trees do, after all,
we wait to feel the fire beetles,
land and lay their eggs among our ash,
and swollen-cracked nuts,
fire calls them into heat, in season.
Such things we learned
from the ant people who saved us in reeds,
thatching from roofs floating, maybe,
really, lifeboats, but
think a tsunami through,
rush
incursive and excursive.
Lay down a layer of plausibility, evoke applause
clap each hand once.
Curtain.
Apr 28, 2023
Apr 28, 2023 at 2:01 AM UTC
We experience the possibility
And consider the credibility
Then we look to dependability
And some reliability
When we discover the profundity
And experience the complexity
We consider feasibility
Or look to plausibility
But we think with curiosity
And imagine reciprocity
When it happens instantaneously
We proclaim incredibility
We wonder at improbability
And pronounce incredulity
For this awesome probability
But it’s only serendipity!
Serendipity is the effect by which one accidentally discovers something fortunate, especially while looking for something else entirely.
©Jane Nov 10, 2010
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 8:54 PM UTC
the day before yesterday
is different than today
streets are deserted
a population lost in a city
searches for its destination
beautiful and disturbing
statues stare at me
with a ****** plausibility
though I think they are blind
there is a heartbeat
it pounds politely
making an inventory of time
that possesses
the magnitude of a disaster
because the day before yesterday
is different than today
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 7:23 AM UTC
Am I mistaken?
You put my body above my face.again.
My anatomy does not keep me from my autonomy.
Objectifying your own daughter and constantly telling her she better run.
Meanwhile expecting nothing from the son. Teaching nothing to the son. Boys,darling. Boys will be boys.
"Have a nice day at work,honey today you might get shoved into that van."
I find myself flinching when joggers come to close.
There was never that plausibility of consent.
Don't let anyone touch you. Never ever let anyone touch you.
Your virtue will have dissapaited into the ether.
I will be ugly.
I was 15 when I let a boy touch my breast.
I cried for 3 days.
When allowances had shifted I had found myself more vulnerable.
But I always was more vulnerable.
Ready to decay at a young age through a impotent sense of resistance.
Be ****** Spit. Clench your fists. Smoke your cigarettes. Wear big boots. Dont look soft because they might think you feel it too. I thought i would catch fire i thought i would die
Especially when it seems so real.
This culture of predatory vultures looking to the elipses that make a chest. Nothing about my life has ever told me that I was allowed to feel safe. That it was okay, to permit a lover to trace my sillhoute with fingers crowned by tiny nails chewed up from a similar confused and scathing perception of the universe. In this house I was never told that I would find someone who I might feel love towards,or that anyone could entertain the thought. It seems as if you would rather I be taken
And kidnapped
Then ever give myself away.
Just so you would know i always have to stay.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
I wonder if I'll sleep tonight,
But then I laugh as I check reality.
I never sleep at night
Because my mind won't sit still.
I'll lay there and think.
Not that I mind.
I'll think of my day,
What has come and what has yet to pass.
But not that I mind.
I'll think of those I know,
Where I'm going
And what I wish.
And it's not that I mind,
But the only problem is,
Even when my body rests,
My mind continues on it's way.
My mind will dream a vast landscape
With all my treasures held within.
Those things that I hold dearest,
And those things I wish to hold dear,
That simply. Float. Away.
Alas! Just barely out of grasp.
But I really don't mind.
Because when I awake,
I have the pleasure
Of chasing those floating aspirations
With actual plausibility of capturing them.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
Evidence may demand a verdict. But have you verified its credibility? What do you know? How do you know what you know? What are the parameters which have been set? Who has set these parameters? Many thoughts are nothing more than mere wishful thinking and flights of analytical fancy. But listen-up, my contemporary brothers and sisters of our planetary sibling beauty - epistemology is questionable. The world is full of non-believers, half-believers and make-believers. Is there another category which escapes my shallow attention? Please enlighten me. I humbly seek your wise counsel. I will defend you, despite the false allegations of your very personal prosecutions. Plausibility is not always as she may seem to appear.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:50 PM UTC
Everything is lying in me
Decays between twilight and being dead
All that can not be true
But it damages my head
With plausibility and anger
I don't let myself loose
Being free is insanity
Here, on this earth,
I lie alone at the moment and forever
Strengthen myself
To come clear
with myself
My consciousness lies
On a pillow nearby in the shadow
Without passion I shiver
and freeze
Past
Past
PAST
blows the wind in my eyes
and I look past
Well, a tear whispers
or do I only ask myself why not?
The most miserable contentment
Everything hangs near and is missed by me
Equally
Obfuscated
[Verwischt--
Alles lügnet in mir
verfällt zwischen Zwielicht und Totsein
Das alles kann nicht wahr sein
Aber schädet mein Kopf
Mit Plausibilität und Ärger
ich lass mich selber nicht los
Freisein ist Wahnsinn
Hier, auf dieser Erde,
Liege ich plötzlich allein und für immer
Bekräftige mich
Um klar zu kommen
Mit mir
Selbst
Liegt mir das Bewusstsein
Am Kissen nebenbei im Schatten
Ohne Wollust zittere ich
Und friere
Vorbei
Vorbei
VORBEI
blässt der Wind in meinen Augen
Und schau' ich vorbei
Na, flüstert eine Träne
Oder frage ich mir nur wieso sonst?
Erbärmlichsten Behagen
Alles hängt nah und fehlt mir
gleicherweise
Verwischt]
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 1:35 AM UTC
I just want to be happy. I have countless reasons to be happy. But in the end it's just me every **** night, every ******* night, alone. And empty. And I hate myself. I hate myself with every atom of my being. And I hate myself for hating myself. I'm playing with needles. That's not really a metaphor. I'm just watching droplets form on my skin. Because I doubt the plausibility of my own happiness. And I've always loved body art.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
Within the realms of plausibility,
Us is none but the smoke of never lighted cigarette.
Oh! Hush now, deadly voices of morals
We can still pretend to be happy.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 8:17 AM UTC
The necromancer of time edged towards
your being, lingering on the edge of nullity
it was nether a juncture of significance
or a moment of distinction it was just
in wanting of what you had time...
We waste its precedence, its meaning
that continues. It likes the unfulfilled,
those that mean mere insignificance's.
Neither a blip or a ripple in the arch
of realities continuation and they end.
It once was a pedestal of time, but looked
at the regression of our understanding
trying to lure moments back into being
even though they had dispersed into
the event horizon of our lives.
Pondering its view for a moment,
it fathomed the plausibility of obtaining
this wasted passing's. One touch would
appease its curiosity, Like a euphoric
juncture it saw for a millisecond everything.
But repercussions of what was taken radiated
in echoes not yet heard but would eventually
get louder the nearer he resonated towards its
moment.
The true lineage of their last moment stolen.
He then in his greed fathomed the repercussions
as that which was woven now tore, and the ripple
became a swell. With each reverberation he reeled
in each last breath contorted within himself. And it
was that which he was feeling scratching at time.
Wondering in-between the cracks, seeing what was
and oblivion. Each fissure hung in stars within his
sight, and a tear dropped and shattered in screams
of eons of lost reflections. He did not cry, he fed on
time but life was his undoing, his continuity now flawed.
Upon him a sense of unease as he felt what time had passed
was now an engagement he was late for. Like ash in a breeze
his features were scattered upon the eons of an unsatisfied
paradox. He was but wasn't and all those that weren't now were,
Time is eternal, life is finite, never mess as it will knock at your door.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
my utter inability
to take responsibility
is killing me...
and the possibility
of Heaven's plausibility
is thrilling me...
while my capability
to harness my hostility
is willing me...
And the last of my civility
Disappears in mere futility
As death's cool kiss is chilling me...
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
We have the full complement of the requisite barriers:
Barbed wire, barren landscape, unpleasant canines,
Stark metallic towers with vaguely menacing turrets and gunsights
(Though they are remote, poorly lighted,
Perched high enough that I suspect they may be occupied
By mannequins or scarecrows),
And what cannot be attained physically
Is augmented by other means,
Breakfasts at mid-day, bits of bread in the blackest part of night,
Light as dark, dark as light.
We tell our company this and that of the news of the world:
Half–and-quarter-truths, innuendos of some plausibility,
Outright truths as well, but told with the most outrageous leers,
Put forth in a tone which suggest that such things could never be,
(I have come to appreciate Pilate’s question,
For truth is a singular thing,
Valid within the limits of one’s mind,
No more than a lower-case notion
When butting up against those of others),
And I tell myself that this is all something that needs to be done,
That perhaps there is no greater good
Than a certain regularity,a certain order of things,
But I am unsettled by the memory of an episode
Some three days past, where one of this assemblage
(I suspect the person in question was female,
But we keep our band well-shorn, and they are costumed
In rather shapeless and gray tunics
Which, given the lapse of time
And the long intervals between our own re-supply,
Look suspiciously like our own garments)
Look in my direction with what fervor she could muster,
All but barking You! You will be forgiven none of this!
And I was left perplexed by her admonition,
Which, as I began to readying myself for dinner
(Scrubbing my neck, my face, my hands,
Trying to rid myself of the damnable dust
Which is omnipresent, unavoidable, beyond eradication)
Lingered, as I could not for the life of me
Comprehend the calculus which would mark me,
A relative speck, a cog, a mere functionary,
As the one to be singled out.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 9:22 AM UTC
too much outside too little inside
everything there loud and noisy
in the stream of energy
every single cell an orchestra,
a blazing furnace
recycling the unseen
what to choose slipping
from a dream to the same dream
possibility after plausibility
with the insatisfaction of a night
unable to decipher the tales of the moon
one needs true silence to hear
the meaning of music
don't let go of the wisdom of stones
every fragment knows there is something
wiser, a finite infinite semiosis
Jul 17, 2023
Jul 17, 2023 at 7:13 AM UTC