"practicalities" poems
I am dying
Because I am running out of yarn
But I don't mean this literally
Of course not
Laugh near me
But don't laugh with me.
What if all of our lives
Are woven into a tapestry
Called fate?
And I'm dying because I'm running out of yarn.
No knitting for the knitter
Girl
The artist is out of supplies
Full of ideas
But where are the practicalities
In ideas without the supplies?
No one knows
So here's me
Wanting yarn
More scarves, more hats
More happy faces
That I can give them smiles
And I am dying
Without happiness
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
Set aside the formalities
Put behind your brutalities
Forget about the finalities
Throw away all moralities
Come hide from your realities
Forgive me for my irrationalities
I plea not for practicalities
I know of the abnormalities
Do you know of the totalities
Just listen to the modalities
It's becoming a lethality
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
undeniably facetious obstacle
that's what you are to me
something I must overcome
well you have alienated me so much
you might as well call me an extraterrestrial
yet you are the one who abducted me
not the other way around
but practicalities are useless with you
at least there is life on other planets
so I will get into my spaceship
and blast as far away from you as I can
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
She walks on water as the stars reflect
their shining brightness only lightening
her paradisiacal face and unclothed body
beauty may have it's layers, hers always
more than skin deep in the selfless benevolence she
gives forth in every interaction she herself
engages herself within,
In my years of wandering, I have never found
a soul I feel so compelled toward, frightening even
myself with my augmenting attachment and need
to hear her voice, feel her soul, listen to her heartbeat
to see her smile, and know her stories and tales from
the days that passed between the time we last spoke
my heart skipping beats,
An internal battle brings forth, an ever forging narrative
of realistic practicalities and the contrasting drifting
dream lands, entwined with fantasy and longing,
fears and hearts, left on the line, of a blurring demise
restore my heart, set me free, allow me to love,
let me
be
hers.
© Sia Jane
---
“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”
Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
Says King Kong to Ann Darrow
the blonde who screams like no other:
Mmmm….we got to talk
What? says Ann Darrow
*about practicalities…real things…
…things that matter…*
says King Kong
Like a pre-nuptial contract you mean?
No, says King Kong…
*I mean like real things…things we have…
things that make me male,
things that make you woman…*
OK, we can have a shared bank account,
says Ann Darrow
King Kong can feel it in his marrow
he’s got to be clear and narrow:
*Look, Ann…
I can’t be too explicit;
my upbringing at Devil’s Island
is high on modesty;
still
I think things can be too big
and some too small,
if you know what I mean*
OK, says Ann Darrow
*we’ll live in Colorado;
build me a small shed in the deserts
and you can have the wide open plains*
Oh, Monkey God!
says King Kong
*Are you a dumb blonde or what?
I mean, Ann Darrow…
Oh, never mind…*
Ah, ah…says Ann Darrow
*Never hide things, King Kong
You always must bring them out
into the open!*
*Oh, Ann Darrow;
You speak more truth than you know –
It’s I who have things in the open
and it’s you who hide them!*
I love you, says Ann Marrow
with a shrug
and gives King Kong a hug
I love you too, says King Kong
wondering how he’ll ever get through
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 3:52 AM UTC
I try to be strong in action and words every day
Every morning I open my Bible and start to I pray
Whispers of imagined blessings in the starts
Positivity, I have learned that, is a farce
I try to hold up ideals that I have broken before
In the hope that I can redeem myself the next time
The distant bell chimes calling out my death
I ignore the knell in an immortal hope sublime
I follow distant shadows on indistinct walls
My insecurities grace the surface and slither and crawls
I scoff at the reptilian camouflage of self-sufficiency
Knowing it is the pain carrying me on.
I am a ********* that would rather feel than be distant
I feel without expression when all I should do is cope
But instead what I do is hopelessly hope
My obsession with dreams makes me repentant.
Sometimes, on lonely nights, I can't be strong anymore
I reach out for a strong shoulder to cradle my sobs
But they often melt away in my tears and shape my fears
I shiver in my feigned self-sufficiency that calls out to emptiness
Maybe I let my imaginations run wild, wild horses fraying into the night
Maybe I need to let go of impossibilities and accept the practicalities
But I would rather lose myself in eyes I have never peered in
My paradise lurking beneath unseen memories.
(c) Anavah 2018
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 2:37 AM UTC
He has little sense of sorrow,
He thinks of fond tomorrows.
He’s a fabulist, a dreamer.
Not quite a true schemer
That would be too hard.
More like a half-awake bard
Making up poetic outcomes
For a reality that never comes.
Mostly he’s a ***
He’s a moonbeamer,
Sliding down colorless rainbows
That he paints himself daily
Proclaiming about how gaily
The emptiness of his canvas
Has so sadly missed us
And somehow we are to blame
For not managing to be the same
As he is by appreciating
That which is not there.
He has daydreams to spare.
He shares his hopeful possibilities
That are not always practicalities
Made of unborn actualities
And fanciful surrealities
Painted over his shortcomings
Hoping nobody will see them
And talk too badly against them
Ahem-ing and coughing phlegm
When he orates and pontificates
On his latest boilerplate stories
Of his imagined future glories.
Lost in his own thought stream,
He’s a totally hopeless dreamer.
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 8:15 PM UTC
i am not of a mind,
to be inspired today.
i have read much,
of love and beauty,
but it...holds no sway
my mind dwells,
in the realm,
practical things.
like a housekeeper,
with a list of chores
she must bring,
to a close before,
picking up her paycheck
and easing into,
her comfortable clothes..
so, squat and stolid,
my mind works, hard,
throughout this long
and dreary day.
cleaning windows,
dusting souls.
vaccumming carpets
and scrubbing hearts.
then, packing,
the washing machine,
with ***** thoughts
and besmirched linen...
that needs sometime
to dry out,
in the bright shining sun.
i am not of a mind,
to be inspired today...
i may, just slumber on
til,
the housekeeper,
is done.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
Something’s happening, let’s call it sunrise, for now,
and summer vacation in Geneva, in umm.. 10 hours.
My heart-beat is spiking, like a flag or kite flying.
I’m leaving an empty room - making one last pass with a broom.
I’m stuffing my bag, with the last few things, for escape on aluminum wings.
My dreams, woven in bright, butterfly tapestries, are rolled and folded -
packed between urgent fantasies and harsh, time-sensitive practicalities.
I know you’re there, a quarter-world away, good news, pegasus awaits,
to streak gulf-stream high, over choppy oceans wide with mechanical fire,
its ice-cycle crystal contrail will point, like cherub cupid's arrow, toward you.
Forget pixels, tech instruments, remote lifeline connections,
and prayer-like whispers over thin, criss-crossed wires.
I’m making my move, coming compass-needle true,
to press up close, reintroduce, extemporize and ******
.
.
music for this:
Someday by Sugar Ray
sunburn by almost monday
This Charming Man by The Smiths
Heaven by Los Lonely Boys
May 7, 2024
May 7, 2024 at 1:16 PM UTC
*As it makes its way down my throat
My eyes instinctively close as if by default
Maybe it’s to savor the “sweetness” in its entirety.
These are the few times my fidelity to tea
Is put to the test and subsequently waylaid.
This casts aspersions on my throat’s integrity
Needless to say my day’s made
And as the day’s itinerary of events deftly
Unfolds, bliss’s unmistakably apparent.
My consciousness is re-acquainted with the elusive
Notion of an existence that’s pleasant
Occasionally, sparingly free from dismal mentally abusive
Modern day realities and practicalities
Try this elixir with some delectable munchies.*
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 4:17 AM UTC
Utopian visions
Idea collisions
Thought revisions
Change decisions
Impossible possibilities
Nonsensical sensibilities
Impractical practicalities
AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
The plans for your construction are precise
The design and engineering are true
The foundations solid, the drains are laid
In mathematics pure, infallible
The offices are bright with light, well-aired
The flow of work geometrically set
The shops and stores convenient to the staff
In tactical practicalities placed
But do you wonder, at night beneath your lamp -
Why are you building a concentration camp?
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 7:23 PM UTC
i'm so alone
the sun is this big orb and the moon is a big bore
take your peer-pressured practicalities into the closet
and lie awake thinking why you never go out alone
we're all clining to each other because we are afraid
the other side is probbaly a long list of forms
and we're here hoping that it holds everything that will make things right with ourselves
we're so afraid
it's because we don't know how to live
we don't know how to love
we tear each other apart trying to figure out what's inside ourselves
but when the sun goes down
and the stars glare at us
from what is a delayed constellation of graveyards
we forget our names
and our lives become black and white photographs in the attic
we feel forgotten if we don't hear our flaws on someone else's lips
we are so alone
because we do't know how to be together
we scream and hold and ****
but what we want is to have enough silence in our heads to feel peace
we want to be free
but skip into prisons of our own making
we're so broken
we're so imperfect
but light candles for gods that promise they'll love us into the next life,
perhaps hoping they'll remember us when no one else will
remember me
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 3:41 AM UTC
my thoughts, to prosaic
for poetry today.
to many minute,
details in play.
too many red *****
to be kept in the air.
that i must speak,
my words plainly
without, any flair.
today i must,
just plod
ever forward
with out, any fuss
and if by dint
of hard work and despair
i make the end
of the job list,
i get myself there.
only then i suppose
i may sit on my laurels
and begin to compose
but until then,
shoulder to boulder
and grinder to nose.
my thoughts to far prosaic
for frivelous and
self satisfied
wordplay, today.
to this course, i have chosen
true, i must stay....
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
I think about how I was grasping at straws when you found me,
Desperate to be wanted and loved
I think about how you grounded me
How you’re solid and real
How I don’t wish for you to be anyone but yourself
I don’t dream of idealistic when it comes to you
You bring everything to the table
In your honesty and truth
I think about how you’re good
Truly good
How sometimes looking at you
Being around you
Is like staring at the sun too long
Or being too close to a bonfire
And it’s all too wondrous to fully comprehend
There isn’t a sense of unworthiness
Or insecurities
You’re golden and free
A garden blooming in plenty
And I am there beside you
You make others feel strong
Happy, adored, important
There is no fear, no rejection
You are full; close to overflowing in everything you are
A constant energy
Lavender and sunshine
You’re every small summer miracle
Pollen coated windows that cast patterns upon the floor
Sun shining through lace curtains
Rain falling in the glow of a street light
You’re waves crashing
And crickets chirping
And the haze of dusk
You’re magic, in all its practicalities
You found me when I was lost
And you brought me back
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 11:40 PM UTC
I once heard that a good writer takes something that makes them feel and with that makes others feel,
I want to make you feel what I felt,
all the pain all the insecurities,
not to hurt you but just so that you may understand,
When we were little we all had ridiculous dreams fantasies of princesses and dragons,
and our knight in shining armor,
But quite honestly our practicalities have not changed,
Getting ready for school on this day I left to fight another dragon hoping my prince would come and save me.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
I realized just today
that we can never be real
that we must stay
imaginary
for inside my head there are no problems
within us
or in
our imaginary world
I only hear our laughter, see our smiles
in place of anger and tears
inside my head I'm never scared
for you or me, you and me
everything is flawless
we talk, and then we see
the truth
each other
everything clear
and in the real world, well
there are sharp edges on which we will trip
knives that we will create and use to cut ourselves
practicalities
of my fear and shame
things that would never exist inside my head
so thus, with a heavy heart
I must keep us imaginary
so that we
can
never
be
real
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 8:57 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
A repost from March, 2018
Yes, Yes, But They Need Jobs in the Real World
“Forward Electronics, your victory’s achieved!
In all communication, progress is our creed!
Ignorance is darkness, technology is light!
Radio, our watchword; radio, our might!”
-Komsomol youth singing in “For the Good of the Cause,”
Solzhenitsyn, 1963
The plans for your construction are precise
The design and engineering are true
The foundations solid, the drains are laid
In mathematics pure, infallible
The offices are bright with light, well-aired
The flow of work geometrically set
The shops and stores convenient to the staff
In tactical practicalities placed
But do you wonder, at night, beneath your lamp -
Why are you building a concentration camp?
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 8:16 AM UTC
As far as these children are concerned,
It is the sky itself that is ringing;
Not knowing how on a very still day such as this,
The moraines and drumlins
Will play catch with the sound of the bells
Emanating from the tiny old church over in Peruville
(Indeed, they are likely unaware the chapel’s existence)
Nor would they give the matter a second thought,
For they have mounted their bicycles,
Pointing spoke-wheeled steeds
Toward the small single-block downtown of their hamlet,
A journey of epic proportions requiring all due haste
(Though, unlike in our day, there is no long hair
Flying unkempt in the breeze,
As we have imposed the sensibilities of helmets upon them)
Though we know it to be a half-mile, at best,
As the crow flies, covered in three, perhaps four minutes,
But they are not concerned in the least
With the mechanics of straight line measurement,
The vagaries of acoustics, the minutiae of glacial residue,
For they have not accumulated the wisdom of the elders,
The practicalities of the sciences,
The ability to construct elaborate boxes of equations
Or any of the other bright, shining theoretical bracelets
Which fit, albeit a tad snugly, on our wrists and ankles.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 9:55 AM UTC
The downfall of ************ my spirit......
.
.
.
Brilliant but ignorant.
.
.
.
Lost intertwining with the practicalities of earth.
.
.
A shadow watching you from a far.
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 11:46 PM UTC
Idealistic standards set him apart from practicalities
Yet struggles to break free of norms are ongoing efforts
By the Gandhiites if there are any left
Life is a tall order when your goals are taller
Yet a willful soul can make it seem effortless
With the sheer tenacity of the indomitable will
Sep 27, 2024
Sep 27, 2024 at 7:42 AM UTC