"pragmatically" poems
when we consider
in one of the rare quiet moments
of our hurried hectic times
what keeps us busy throughout all our days
we may discover that there is not much beyond quotidian chores
that occupies our schedule
the job, career, the family, the children
mow the lawn, chat with the neighbors,
go to worship, bowling, Sunday school
etc., etc.
small time we give to figuring out the meaning of it all
what is it that we want
when we have reached the peak of our career
when our kids have left the house
live elsewhere without need for our care
what is it that is left
to strive for and achieve
pragmatically speaking
it may be useful to become alert
and contemplate such matters
alongside our busy years
at least some time before
we find ourselves
close to the edge
that points us into different spheres
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC
You told me it was wrong.
The magnetic pull of my body towards the need.
The way I feel it, the longing, in my chest,
how I place my hands absently on my neck,
sultrily telling you what I'm feeling.
Perhaps it's a ripple of something that has been brewing
for many years. Something always there, underneath.
Heightened by loneliness and summer heat.
Maybe it comes from a lack of normal things,
things which usually accompany
young boys.
Those things I didn't get.
Maybe it's someone's fault.
Maybe I should ask Freud, maybe he
could place his hand on my delicate cheek bone,
how it comes it a gentle hill.
He could stroke the freckled valley underneath my eyeball with his smoking pipe
and tell me pragmatically
the reasons for my feelings,
why I wanted a man to touch me without asking,
to make my face his baby in wrapped cloths.
You told me it was wrong,
like the smoking
done after the house had gone to bed at hushed hours
in the ***** garage.
like the tequila shot I did at the kitchen counter that summer
how it tasted like heat and pine needles,
how it tasted like the wooden chest in our home,
like the inside of it, the dark unvarnished interior
that could hold my tiny body if I had needed to hide
where my father kept his winter sweaters.
And how I ****** it down with the lime that I didn't bite hard enough,
my eyes were red and flooded.
It was wrong.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
she broke a glass
in the kitchen
at the moment of rupture
an earthquake somewhere else
in her stomach
he’s not writing any longer
a crush
she didn’t know that he had her
he didn't know she didn't know
nor intuitively
nor pragmatically
a spillage of warm expectations
and wedding plans
in sharp pieces
lying in the floor
a broken glass
an open door.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
Take me to the place where lovers play.
Where the word love is on the tongue of each person who passes by and the jitters of emotion break us down and build us as twin towers of faith and infatuation.
Roll me down a river of finality, telling me sweet things in order to keep me close to you with little lies that make me love you.
Show me the tip of time and take me past it. Let me now that I’m a possibility for forever and that I’m forever going to be close to you. Show me that I’m wanted, that I’m needed, and you don’t want to change that.
Kiss my lips with sincerity and whisper your thanks to the lord into my ear with a seductive air. Because your voice is so beautiful and your lips so sweet that you take me back to times when we first courted, times when the deepness of our love was judged on how many tics the clock made when the phones were on.
Take me to the most sensible form of tenderness and let me teach you how to surpass it. For the threat of love is my only danger, and I remedy the fears pragmatically.
Is it ok to admit I’m in love? Tell me now, because I’ve been burned before. I’ve had the knives of deceit stab my heart before, and I didn’t like it. So Let me know how far our love can go before I need to jump ship.
Tingle my soul and make me shiver with the electricity generated by your feminine touch. You always start the wonder every time our skins connect.
Take me on a journey that sends me into Neverland with you by my side. I could care less where we go, so long as we are together, it won’t register which direction I’m walking in. show me that pretty smile and tell me it won’t matter to you either. Take my hands and lean in close to me, catch a breath and let it out slow just staring in my eyes.
And I will know where to take us.
You take me to the place where lovers play.
The little bit of space where time doesn’t agree with its surroundings, the place where we could stay an eternity just thinking about how we could spend our time together.
Lover’s land.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
the backs of my eyelids are kaleidescopes-
blender-mixtures of the crinkles of your nose-bridge,
panic attack lullibies,
and waterfall tear-ducts,
the scent of mixture so ripe with potential that love personifies itself
as unlimited clean water in Flint.
in your indefinite (permanent) absence,
it is a sensation not painfully unsterile as a homemade tattoo,
but not quite as pragmatically satiable as a common itch.
it's
hiccups at the podium,
sore legs moving into a third floor apartment,
a fender-bender in the sweltering seduction of summer.
------------------------------
your hemorrhage-generating image is a permanent stain that blends in just well enough to wear.
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
They wished
to stay away
from the world
and it's reek
They said
they hoped
to live
in the moment
to see
the blossomed corners
and smell
the sweetened air
Feel the branches
swaying
with joy
and the breeze
just making them
forget
where they are
on a blissful eve
with smiles
and no fears
How obvious
it was
that these were
the places where
they were
pragmatically
meant to be
But little
did they know,
not
together.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 7:49 AM UTC
it's been quite some time now since I've seen the world smile
all I see is corruption and everyone living in denial
there is so much negativity surrounding me
what the **** is up with this world
they keep asking me
we need a more rational approach to adopt in the face of the human condition
instead of the need of needlessly perpetuating our species and spreading the misery
death and destruction seems to be the answer
we might as well make our brief time as existent beings as bearable as possible with the proviso that we don't inflict any unnecessary harm on others
somewhere between these two positions is the best pragmatically speaking
we should not flinch away from recognizing this if we had boundless respect for the integrity of truth
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
We were once all kids
Youngn's,
Wildly childishly dumb
Some threw fits
Become a nuisance
Some prudent
Possibly a ton
Maybe you wined and kicked
Because your chores weren't done
Probably clueless
Of what the world had yet to come
Then there's the misfits
Who never fit in
Who blew scales of fish
Then threw fists
Took a few to the ribs
So now threw brew to lips
Taking double dipped Blue Cupids
Letting blotter strips melt to tounge
An endevor to numb the constant misuse
Just endlessly pursues
Never able to outrun
The pain forever maintains
Only abstains for some
We all knew one
A problematic student
During our unsystematic youth
One kick ball captins wouldn't choose adamantly
Or picked on traumatically
For reasons enigmatically obtuse
Easy to dogmatically accuse
So now he's pragmatically recluse
He walks out of school
Without any excuse
But doesn't go home
Because there's no escape free from abuse
Done it so many times
Has a bracelet above his shoes
The only safe place he can seem to think
To avoid feelings profuse and being upset
Is the old Willow tree on a swing
With a noose around his neck
16 year olds
Shouldn't contemplate death
Anyway he picks up the goose
Can't complain it's better than the latter
Sensation so placid
Lamination built couth
Decides to drop some acid
As he heads up a ladder
To the top of the mall roof
It is now 6 stories up
This is how his story shut
Crying apparently seeing stuff
Lying guaranteeing to the kid
He'd fly away if he just jumped
Without a single condemn
Not a single to hand to lend
Not one person that he could depend
This day became his end
Nobody heard his voice again
Guilty unable to make amends
As he fell to his doom, his death
To a better place he'd soon ascend
A misfortunate event
But God will assure he is now content
I guess you could say its unfortunate
At the least it's for the best
In piece may his soul rest
And forevermore be blessed
R.I.P my freind
©thrags
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 11:08 PM UTC
eating paper by cornonthekob at eliteskills.com
I need a release
something else to help me see
past the lights of delusion
through the apex of a dream
my comment
Indeed there is much delusion in the semantics of mesmerically enrapturing. They are in intoxicatingly inebriating in fact. Imagination's immaturities can be seductively enticing but they are generally beyond our keen. Just because we can personify beings with metaphysical mystique doesn't't mean we can touch others or even ourselves with their magic. It can be difficult to be pragmatically practical when caught in the surreal edifice of the apex of a dream. The axis crux of id conclusion's continuums should be a cerebral cortex ****** matrix of vast expanse and tenacious extremity. I wish you success on your quest!!
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 7:22 PM UTC
There Is A YOU That’s Only You
There is a You that’s only you
And no one else:
The meditative point’s dynamic
Force that stimulates all progress;
Within the system You or process.
You the core, nub, bottom line:
You without a fine distinction.
There is a Cause that’s cause
And nothing, nowhere else.
For some an easy goal,
Even a means of solid gold.
The point of points is to unite
The You that’s only you with Cause,
Invisible, one might
Proclaim invincible.
So let us start with you, your tool:
Arms, legs, trunk, head
Inside of which the trillion cells
(More than the stars, the galaxy’s as well)
Which make up I and All Q that is you.
Why do you think they’re there?
To share with others, naturally,
But to evolve to unity:
A two in one,
(or if you’re into Trinity
Then three…)
To make the story short,
Wise thinkers, seers over all the planet
Have perceived pragmatically
Two ends:
To find the You that’s only you;
To get into
The Cause that’s root.
After which you’re through
To all that is and true.
The end.
There Is A You That’s Only You 1.9.2018 To The Child Mystic II; Revelations Big & Small; Arlene Corwin
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 2:28 PM UTC