"poising" poems
1 pill: Nothing really serious.
2 pills: To distract my thoughts.
3 pills: To numb the pain
4 pills: To get me high.
5 pills: To make me sleepy.
6 pills: To knock me out.
Sleeps for 3 hours
wakes up
7 pills: To cause poising.
8 pills: To send me into the hospital.
9 pills: No returning..
10 pills: To end it all.
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. Now I'm gone
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
Air is carefully flowing through my lungs
another poising breath...
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
The mirror of the soul
a spectre of sepia
besides an unassuming smile.
How could we ever save ourselves
when the gold turns to silver
on parched lips we were led
to where dahlias preside
in buckets of sand,
albeit temporal
How can we ever be said to boast?
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
Few years from now where you
Will be living a fulfilling life and
myself unruffled inhabiting the latent aura ,
Ouch!then smites the peripetia,
Ensuingly at a gratifying glance,
You see me,you merely remember me.
Your mind ponders but your eyes struck
as if it has a memory,but
at the very Perceptively
poising moment I see you,
my mind and eyes struck intimately,and
Satiable senses synergize momentarily,
while the other senses get numb.
Nothing travels in my mind,
no electrical impulses,it is as if I am meditating,
but my eyes gets emotional as if it bears an image.
It secretes the preserved fluid
that gravitates to my cheek,
where my hands scatter it along my face.
the years don't matter,even at the touch
of trance,you sprout from my thought.
The thoughts of partaken moments
vacillate in my mind,perhaps,
my senses don't work but
my heart works for you......
I love you for the millionth time,as
I say this it adds to another or nothing.
(A moment that happened for once,
never promised to happen twice nor hence,
but the fantasy pursues me thence,
the fantasy that pierces (me) )
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
"normally my Message,
is
meant to be diCouraging:
urging you to reConsider
burning these Chemicals.
medical aWareness
is my
bearing of Courtesy.
burn it with the **** n Liquor...
...this is a Poison."
poising........Posing
as a
potion for a Voiding
all the
voices in yer Dozy
little
Red Dead Rosie
little
posie of a Head.
"Red Red Rover."
"Victor........Please..
..come to Join us.
.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC
Am I not a fool for writing poetry
for the sake of writing poetry?
Am I to be rejected for using words
such as ennui?
Am I to be ****** for figurative language?
Or burned at the stake for
poising a period at the end of
a stream of
consciousness?
And yet my inner critic
yearns to yell
to scream
more words!
more passion!
I see their faces when
they look at me,
their empty eyes,
like corpses.
They believe morals
are paintings on
walls
and
scruples
are currency in Eastern Europe.
They do not know.
They do not drink
in the moments
that they cannot breathe.
They are silent tombstones.
Sinisterly and silently scorning Shakespeare
They trample over
Chaucer,
calling him dull.
And I too am seen as a
heretic.
for thinking of such
fantastical, whimsical
thoughts.
Was it ethical for Socrates to drink Hemlock?
Did they giggle like a couple of school girls
as he downed it like it was a
shot of whiskey?
And yet we heretics
are given the poison
of judgement everyday
swallowing the bitter cup
How much do I remember about not fitting in?
Is there reason to believe I ever will?
And yet faith has accepted the girl with
the curly hair.
Imagination
intuition
emotion
perception
reason
All qualities which
poetry blends into
passion.
For is not poetry
the expression of passion?
And yet this can be said of communication
in any way:
art
music,
writing
And yet you don't
see Romeo whispering
the Pythagorean Theorem
to Juliet on her balcony
No it lacks
sincerity
the Words are not his own.
No true poetry is the language
of the hidden soul,
the quintessence of life.
Yet another quote I will never be
quoted for is:
"Self education is better than none"
but that has nothing to do with poetry
except for how to write it.
And yes, I do enjoy
writing poetry.
and reading it too.
From Dante's inferno
to Poe's Raven
I have swam in the
channels of print
in everyone,
drowning in the words.
And yes, I do enjoy
being a heretic.
I may never stand in,
so all I can do is
Stand out.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
Dark
Thoughts are poising
A cold black heart
No chance for awakening.
Darker
Every coming Day
No light at the end
Let it slip away
Darkest
Of hours surrounding
By lost hope and faith
it's all for nothing....
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
As I sit and watch the world go round
I can't help but laugh at the misfortune we are bound
Humans basic pleasures make any man proud
But all of his feelings have just run aground
I have fought to hard for this life to just end
But what chose dose a man have when he play's with sin
And quite whispers speak of pleasure and gin
I know there will be peace right before my fine
This gateway to the endless adventure is closing
So let me just stop laying and poising
As times journey for me keeps unfolding
My feeling and emotions will never stop growing
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
You are a everladting poising that is lethal to me
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
The rainbow that raptures in my eyes is drifted by the drops when it muses you......
the thought generates the invoking image of you,
but the eyes ponder it...is that fair?
I should have never let you know that I adore you absolutely.....
I should have never tried talking to you....
The immense love should have been preserved within me as a pastiche that imitates you in my thoughts,
It is not to be disclosed nor to be dispatched......
However I don't brood on those realms,
not on the past which I couldn't change.....
not on you who is ever with me,
Perhaps not as a physical existence but as the pitching nostalgia,
not on those beautiful engraved moments that is etched on my memory,
not on those coherent confluences ,
not on those non-physical intimacies we have had,
not on those sacred aural spectrums that seems to be poising amidst us,
what ever I had done was relevant to those circumstances,
but it is not relevant to the apparent circumstances.....
and that's what matters and that's what deeply hurts......
In the lilting limbo-love...
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
again and again i let the monsters in the back of my head tell me i'm worthless
i let them dictate over my happiness
they whisper sweet nothings to me late at night
so when the alarm buzzes and i awake from the little sleep i've had
the monsters tell me over and over
that i am worthless
and no amount of sleep can cure the tiredness i feel
and i let myself believe that those boys
the ones who use me
the ones who abuse me
are worthy of my compassion
and it's all because of the monsters
it's all because they are poising my mind with lies
but i know that one day i will have had enough
and one day
i will stop the monsters from speaking
from lying to me
from convincing me that i am worthless
i will make the words pouring out of their mouths cease
i will be victorious in escaping my hell
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC
Something will be found which they cannot express.
The crowd in your white lace dress!!
Your mind thorougly smug
Beneath your wet hairs
A kitten of our love
Oh yea it is shadowed green half way
Round a billion christmas trees
White washed with star bleach!
An evning in a wall frozen like apples...
I felt spiders, lime water poising my skin
like Hiroshima,
The falling iguanas (fake)
I lied.
Nothing from south america becomes sand like japanese papers. Another great poem ******
(2)
On the airof this busy pitty progress- I squeal electric darkness.
May i feel
May i feel
May i feel your divine maze of unsucess?
In desserts very clean. Thefront yard decided much so or pain.
The street light in desperation was postphoned with recent tears
With recent tears, thick syrup, over winter honey.
Seattle dusk is turned to grand piano keys
With goods. Pages of grim dead fish
Just **** money out of delicate breeding!
She blushes like a ruby chinook!
Now i have picked where to carve
Her unwrapped layers.
Beautiful things are softer then thin clear bones.
I know the dead are haphazards.
But im not much from another river.
I have ran over lastyears broken tides with snow bringing the scent of melted cheese.
And life is over
But often times with voice there is so much more.
Unreal crys, richly pay,half a block, red rosy eyes in the haze.
At last im getting a sweet pool of glaciar water- a sweet place to **** out my twisting invention. An excrement i started, imagination from my impulsive instinct.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
Crouched by the car, I curse at the sky,
Soaked to the bone while people turn a blind eye.
I blink.
I see myself with no mirror.
Yet it couldn't be clearer.
I blink.
This she,
These we.
They all look like me.
I blink.
All wearing the same high-tops with a wrinkled T.
The same me.
I blink.
They have died since.
Oxygen deprived arteries left behind like blueprints.
I blink.
They now resemble twisted mannequins,
Eyes lifted eternally to heaven, atoning for their sins.
Expressions all poising questions.
I blink.
I see myself, miles down my current route in a deadly collision.
Body at an unnatural angle--no seatbelt, bad decision.
I blink.
Myself at a party, sippin' on some whiskey.
A quick plop in my drink ensures I can't get away quickly.
I blink.
The high tops I wear are worn, much like myself from abuse.
Empty apologies don't make up for the blood on my shoes.
Just another victims name on the evening news.
I blink.
I was the person who held signs saying "free hugs."
Now an addict, I'm throwing up on someone else's scrubs.
I blink.
Is this my future?
Dead, abused, a user?
I blink.
A man appears, an umbrella in hand.
"Would you like some help?" He asks, helping me stand.
Where he came from I can't understand...
I blink.
"They call me Heavenly Father.
And I take care of my own--Especially my own daughter."
I blink.
"I've seen too much--What do I do?
I'll always die with a sense of déjavu."
A smile.
"I'll always be here.
Perfect love casts out all fear."
He's gone.
I realize I don't have to die from abuse or a needle in my vein.
I don't need to choose pain.
A laugh bubbles out of me as I realize, I just met God in the rain.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
everyone who passes through the house of James
plays a part in their second story story
Nick is not of the kitchen
but he’s ghosting there
and he tries
he tries with words
he tries with dance
he tries so hard we barely see him!
James is thirsty!
and that’s the other story...
He's drying *******
on an old gas cooker
when ‘Phelie blows in
on a colleague
o’ Koz Bar leaves
hi poising cat-ready
on a brown couch
on a couch
that remembers no shape
though she tries
she tries to make an impression
on our blurred nerves too
beginning with alrigh'
which is hi too but with feeling
this hi assumes we know
drama gril and da Richmond crew
And I try to say
I mean I am trying to say
the couch remembers no shape
I have no memory
of drama teachers or michelle
yelling again darling with feeling this time
then she tells
me what *a lonely time
it has been since the…addiction -*
michelle poising there
upon the word
like a Lepidopterist’s pin
on au-then-tic-i-ty -
isn’t it enough that I said it?
now that it’s a dead thing
it spreads its terrible wings
and 'Phelie double drops
her second story hello hello
we lean into a kiss hello
her lips are not dry
though she smokes her mouth un-wet
she tries to say hello
by laughing at
I've given up not-smoking
and we talk
and kiss a fresh hello
undress hello
touch hello
leading to a breathless hello hello hello
and now I am saying,
again darling with feeling this time
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 4:33 AM UTC
Truly set far above all experiences,
the conventional feathers that form a fan-like feature is dispelled.
Here’s to depict the flight where the bird started out,
a novel way of soaring high, subtly twisted
yet so unequivocally beautiful.
The vibrant, dense colors that flare so conspicuously
emerging for a unique, indelible flying experience that builds:
a vision so true
a joy that illuminates unspeakable happiness,
hovering with hope,
poising with profound power and peace
promising an experience like never before!
Taking off every time with flying colors of:
care, compassion and comfort: so rare, so true!
Above all, everlastingly true.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 8:39 AM UTC