"ponderer" poems
The poet is a ponderer
A wordy wizened warrior
Their rhythms revel to reveal
The wonder of a wanderer
Unfurling mighty metaphors
For golden grains on sandy shores
They sail upon a penmanship
Of paper hulls and pencil oars
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
neither very social
nor I'm vocal
silent screamer
a lonely dreamer
neither a mood swing
nor in a bing
don't mind
if you don't find
as I'm in my cocoon
may be back soon
but for a while
let me hibernate in my style
not a saint
just complacent
ridicule not, I'm not a clown
on a journey unknown.... my own
deep ponderer
solo wanderer
not a wayward
just traveling inward
judge me not O dear!
for you I'm there
but let me be insignificant
an abstinent.....
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 2:35 PM UTC
What are these bands around your wrists
These frayed stories that barely cling?
And what are these enchantments held
That cradle your touch between each ring?
And what is this ancient writing here
That’s inked from shops of yester-year?
Is there a relic about you yet
That makes your brackish past run clear?
What is that place your eye seeks out
When your steady gaze is aether-bound?
And what steep truths have you traversed
To gather poise as you have found?
What shadows passing now have stayed
And fears upon tanned shoulder weighed?
Can mysteries be unraveled here
That in your piercing focus played?
Oh wandering mystery mountain man,
Oh sweet conundrum of my dreams,
Oh distant altruistic love,
Oh ponderer of whispering streams,
Wherefore do the stars yet speak
So I can hear their secret calls,
But ever in their praises keep
Your hidden name in cosmic halls?
Yes, to my ears they murmur deep
The stain-ed truths of earth and sky
But never leaks that hopeful peep;
Verisimilitude is shy.
Forever my enigma: you.
The heavens sagely made it so.
For I have solved the their secrets through,
But so much in you left to know.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC
I am a plane traveling at night
I am the night that takes flight
I am a wanderer
And a ponderer
I am a collector
And a selector
I am a part of society
The part that adds variety
I am an independent artist
So I don't have to be the smartest
Because I'm just having fun
And poetry is the pun
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 4:38 PM UTC
They told me to keep swimming, but the sea is getting rough
I just don't think that this life will ever be enough
For a lonely misfit, a homesick wanderer
But there's no place for this lost ponderer
My arms are becoming tired, I'd like to just float
Let the smooth sand cover my body and my breathing will slow
Choking on salt water never tasted so sweet
Don't look down, the darkness swept away your feet
They told me not to give in
But my body feels so weak
The ocean floor is where you'll find me
Ninety feet deep.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 10:05 AM UTC
Turn your face up to the stars, my dear
Picture yourself falling up, far from here
Drifting higher
A ball of fire
A shooting star
A firefly from inside a jar
You're a weightless wanderer
A philosophical ponderer
Let yourself fly free
Don't think, just be.
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 2:55 AM UTC
People plan to partake in
pondering this painful piece
of the Ponderer's ponderings.
These pathetic pain filled people
presume that
pondering the Ponderer's ponderings
is perfectly practical in practically every peaceful way.
But presently,
the Ponderer's particularly pondering ponderings
are perniciously precarious in every perilous way.
Thus, to ponder the Ponderer's pondering ponderings
is not particularly practical,
but instead pertain
to perniciously painful parts of precarious nature
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 10:02 AM UTC
All yearling spring birds far from distant home,
Xanthic in Gothic gospels soot and yolk,
Where's one's soft spoken voice to calm me on the phone?
Formidable pulses,
The danger of convulsion's spread on like buttered oil!!!
Enormity soil's the defendant delirium...
Such agnostic aquariums stinkingly similar upstate!
Broken lives to sunset drive,
Specimen speckles,
Forcible tassels hover one's decree!!
Litigious locust's buzz creepingly,
Indecently exposing all's funk!!!
Concauctions of fake adoption's,
Concievers break locks off trunks!!!
Omit me out of this obdurate oasis,
Wherein one feel's spacious,
Free to cometh and goeth!!!
Freedom doth thou know?
Operatic Mrs and Mr's,
Minuets for thy ridiculed wishes!!
Ponderer of newness,
Cleaner's as thy tub spills over,
Thy heels click together just to get thy kicks!!!
Hit the streets thou feathered bird of no beak,
Thou tally marker of no means!!!
Foreman to thy own people's idea's,
Nourish me with a new novice,
Nurture me with heartbrake hotel,
Buildeth me a standing ovation of a one love palace!!!
Brave heart fairytale,
Doth thou stand to move about?
Listener of radio tunes,
Art thou close??
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
When my hand passes along your breast
—Your swooning tremors translated—
Done and quiet and motionless
Our appetites full and sated.
Nothing, no passion beats
Nor does heart sing of a bond
Mere means to untied ends
Cursed, that, to never go beyond.
Laying there, as you quake with delight
No feelings that burst
Try as I might
But, jewelry feigned and worn so prettily
Though you are not the first.
Wander oh, Wanderer
Through fields of cut-and-dry
And ponder oh, Ponderer
What it means, her and I.
Feelings professed in autumnal halls’ rain
True Heart’s contents gifted
Turned bed-pleasures again.
Is this then Love?
My mattress stained?
Is this then Love?
To entreat desires again?
My tongues are sincere, motivating that art
Painted with blood
Strained right from my heart.
But, perhaps, mine is a bad art
So prudish, so straight
Where her brushstrokes are cherished
Not the brilliance of her paint
Perhaps, then, I’m chasing
Pure metaphor
To find Love and love
Is what Lust is for,
So, then I lay empty
With misty dreams and starry eyes
My loving hands not deferred
But outright denied.
How can we, in what sense,
In Love’s definition confide?
To prove it’s only a metaphor:
Not literally applied.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
Ponderer of belief
Wondering what you think
Evade realism as an elusive being
Preposterous pervert brought forth from protrusive realms
Fostering impostors within thine self
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
I cross my path at dawn
and see my feet go on
just tracks of cats
and tracks of me
a time elasped
seen unity
I'm not a cat
don't wanna be
but wish I knew
just who had made
those tracks
a worrier a wanderer
a warrior a ponderer
a hurrier a squanderer
or a freak inside
a dream
tracks tell no lies
all alibis
but the tracks I see
say I wander free
tho I wonder
will I ever be
my burning brain
is going dim
the tracks just feign
how sure I am
but that's okay
the cats would splain
the tracks say
where you been
©2012 Lyn
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
He wandered amongst the midday twilight peak;
In his window glared a formative feline,
I was once lost in it,
But then recommended a fine smile to my deliberated agenda,
Oh how the world inquires beyond thee,
Like a nimble breeze amongst a flame,
Upon a strained vigil sanity keep,
Upon my own reflection revelation came.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 4:33 PM UTC
Coaxed,
Stoaked,
Citer of circumspect alley ways,
Ponderer of all circumference!!!
A lost shadow to a drawn out stage!!
Incurable nausea plants itself beneathe thine nose,
Beneathe thy finest thine Rose!!!
Thou fallen cut down trunk,
Thou Intel gatherer of recordings of political junk!!!
Thy mafiatic hardened heart's department hath closed for many seasons,
For many reasons thou art down and out again!!!
Old adversary,
Oldened friend!!!!
Undergraduate of no sporty coup'e,
No tripped up loop to sway thine interfacial structure!!!
No loving, all clutter, you inhale as you breathe,
Thou daytime innocent,
Thou nightly thief!!!!
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
All yearling spring birds far from distant home,
Xanthic in Gothic gospels soot and yolk,
Where's one's soft spoken voice to calm me on the phone?
Formidable pulses,
The danger of convulsion's spread on like buttered oil!!!
Enormity soil's the defendant delirium...
Such agnostic aquariums stinkingly similar upstate!
Broken lives to sunset drive,
Specimen speckles,
Forcible tassels hover one's decree!!
Litigious locust's buzz creepingly,
Indecently exposing all's funk!!!
Concauctions of fake adoption's,
Concievers break locks off trunks!!!
Omit me out of this obdurate oasis,
Wherein one feel's spacious,
Free to cometh and goeth!!!
Freedom doth thou know?
Operatic Mrs and Mr's,
Minuets for thy ridiculed wishes!!
Ponderer of newness,
Cleaner's as thy tub spills over,
Thy heels click together just to get thy kicks!!!
Hit the streets thou feathered bird of no beak,
Thou tally marker of no means!!!
Foreman to thy own people's idea's,
Nourish me with a new novice,
Nurture me with heartbrake hotel,
Buildeth me a standing ovation of a one love palace!!!
Brave heart fairytale,
Doth thou stand to move about?
Listener of radio tunes,
Art thou close??
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
how many faces have passed by
i can not count
what each face's life was like
i cannot tell
but i can imagine
what a privilege to be amongst so many
intricate lives
but they don't see me
or remember me
but that is perfect
i like it that way
not about me
im a bench sitter
a face rememberer
a open eyer
life ponderer
a people watcher
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
Wherefore art my purpose in life
I'm filled with passion, love, and fight
Bursting with spirit until I'm overcome
By social anxiety and a long line at the grocery store
I want to be good but I'm without determination
I've been taught leadership, sure
And I don't want to be a follower
But do I want to make others into followers?
Is it possible to do good and not be a hypocrite
To organize people for a purpose
Without taking advantage of them
Without rewarding their efforts fairly?
Verily I remain a thinker, a ponderer
And regrettably not a man of action
It must be a moral quandary that keeps me at home
Because I could never admit that it's only fear of failure
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
Somtimes I ponder on the thought of what could have been
On how different things would be
On how you out of all people, you have always placed a smile on my face
I ponder on what could have been
I ponder on the differences
I ponder on the future that could have been happening
I ponder on the now that would have changed our lives but the things I ponder on didnt happen
The differences are different
The future is already arranged for something else
The now is already happening
But the one thing that remains always is the smile that you placed on my face
My love
The thing that keeps me going sometimes are the silly things you would say
The funny things you would do
The changes you have made.
See you are unique
You are a one of a kind
Your mind is expanding in ways I would have never imagined
Your heart beats more peaceful and calmer than ever
You have changed in a way that makes me see you as a better and extraordinary person
See you have changed but also have changed my feelings for you
You have changed my way of thinking in a way
You have impacted my life to a level where
I feel like the sun itself hugs me
The moon says hello
The stars brighten up my night
The clouds give me that extra push
See you have done all of this by just placing that one smile on my face
So thank you for everything
Thank you.
A million times, thank you.
You truely are someone in which I wouldnt mind to ponder on.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
I’m a twentieth century baby,
and a twenty first century man;
Preceded by the definite maybe’s
of a fickle generations attention span:
**** the alarmist. Dissect the murderer.
Round up the lost lot. Ground the ponderer.
For we are the witless wanderers”
We are born out of confusion and into anxiety,
we swallow up old decades for a pastime;
they're digestible bytes to the digital society,
and their ideals oft’ so easy to mime.
But we’re witless in our meter-less rhyme.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
In a crowded place
Teeming with heads.
You find me in a corner
Buried in my own thoughts.
You find me weird
Not the one amongst you
Not a word
Do you get from me.
You give me names
You ignore me
While I only stare at the frames.
I am not dumb
I am not a wallflower.
I am just lost
Like the religious in a prayer.
I'm a doodler
Who has no word to express
A ponderer
Whose voice suppresses.
A doodler who vents his anger
On his living images
A thinker who lives and dies
Everyday in his sketches
I'm a doodler
In a world sunk in loudness.
Unheard, unnoticed
I live in my images.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
Awake. feeling chest pain. Is it my valve? It's nearly a quarter century old. How long do these things last? Titanium, strong, will outlive me, but what about the flesh it's anchored to? Pain is an indicator. What's wrong?
I tick like a clock as it opens and closes, hearing each time it skips a beat. Doctors said it looked real good, but eight months ago, not now.
I have two diseases with the same initials. Shouldn't there be a rule against that? Multiple Sclerosis and Marfan Syndrome. What an awkward pair.
Overlapping symptoms complicating treatment. You think they'd give me a two for one discount?
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 3:58 AM UTC
Coaxed,
Stoaked,
Citer of circumspect alley ways,
Ponderer of all circumference!!!
A lost shadow to a drawn out stage!!
Incurable nausea plants itself beneathe thine nose,
Beneathe thy finest thine Rose!!!
Thou fallen cut down trunk,
Thou Intel gatherer of recordings of political junk!!!
Thy mafiatic hardened heart's department hath closed for many seasons,
For many reasons thou art down and out again!!!
Old adversary,
Oldened friend!!!!
Undergraduate of no sporty coup'e,
No tripped up loop to sway thine interfacial structure!!!
No loving, all clutter, you inhale as you breathe,
Thou daytime innocent,
Thou nightly thief!!!!
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
I am a floating flower,
Among the tallest tree.
My petals,
They fall once plucked from me.
My pollen
Decreases once ****** by bees.
My roots
Decay once ripped from leaves.
I am fragile,
Born from the smallest of seed.
Grown and sewn,
To the purest beauty.
But wanderer and ponderer,
Please let me be.
Jan 3, 2024
Jan 3, 2024 at 4:14 PM UTC
I look into your eyes your heart inside of mine my hands around your hands and my mind full of demands this was never planned but now my love expands and it will never shrink, I sink into this feeling my mind and body reeling my ego’s layers are peeling and when I expose the core my spirit soars my love implores that I connect, I reach for your hand and in that moment your smile lands, my candle flares and I beware for just a sec before I reset it, I cannot regret it, love is love when you rise above these illusory constraints, painted over by love’s complaints I escape this social prison and experience perfect clarity of vision, nuclear fission, but not division, neon fusion, no confusion there was no one using just transfusing sharing vibes of peace and love, rose and dove, we fly in unison and our communion is for two and I will not forget you, my flame will e’er burn and from this place I’ll e’er yearn and you may say I never learn but I know about a moment of connection, there is no question that I have found the answer, I am a dancer, a lover, a poet, a wanderer, a ponderer, a lonely transponder so I will never squander something as precious as this. It is this moment I will miss. It is your lips I want to kiss. It is real inside our minds and that is fine with me, so thank you for reality, thank you for my sanity, and for restoring my humanity.
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 9:58 AM UTC
Writers
Writers write (duh)
There is verbal form of any language and a physical form of any language, and writing is the physical form of any given language.
And in some ways, writing is extremely beneficial to society. It expands vocabulary and ability to process things, it makes a better form of passing on things and keeping things as permanent as possible.
But, sometimes, writing is horrible, and even language in and of itself can horrible at times.
When one loves another, words, eventually, don't suffice to describe the overwhelming flood of emotion you have towards the other person.
In this age of technology and talking over it, texting or calling or face-calling, words sometimes do not suffice, those three words said all the time, over and over again.
Sometimes it’s a deep, passionate kiss on the lips. Sometimes a small peck to the tip of one’s nose. Sometimes a slow, gentle kiss to a forehead. Sometimes a small squeeze of the arms when cuddling. Sometimes a nuzzle to a neck or cheek.
To truly be a writer, one must submit to the fact that there can simply be no words. And it’s okay, it’s fine to not have the right words sometimes.
If anything, it can make your writing a little better.
So, go for it. Be wordless. Be in awe and blown away.
Be a ponderer. Because, in the end, that’s what all us writers are.
Ponderers, who attempt to describe their observances.
:;,
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 12:30 PM UTC