"precede" poems
Your dignity should reflect, everything you are. If you use it wisely, you will go very far.
Your dignity should reflect what you stand for; no matter what is said. It will cause you to soar high; far above others head.
Your dignity will help you, and allow you to excel. It will prevent you from troubles; encouraging you not to fail.
Your dignity will precede you, giving directions ahead. It will give you knowledge, so follow while being led.
Always keep your dignity; regardless what others do. Having a sense of dignity, will always carry you through.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
a very small step that goes to the next.
It leaves and stops with fair hesitation.
Waiting and Restless.
Starting and Stopping
The movements going fast.
The feet, stomping.
The running, the saving, the freedom.
The tendency to always precede them.
Blur of speed
Never Stopping
The world asking
for silence
Quick response of
Stomp! Stomp!
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 12:30 PM UTC
The awake hummingbird flits,
At speeds beyond imagination over dark daisies and roses,
Little Pearls unerringly grow in deep ocean sands,
Concealed behind deceiving waters from the times of Moses.
A wobbling chair shifts on the glistening porch,
By the sands that move with the soul of the azure sea,
Where Calypso sits nestling the locket of the man she will lose tonight,
All of creation moves with her sobs in perfect harmony.
In the vistas of far reaching coconut trees,
The wind rushes to and fro,
Concocting a strange chilling melody,
A song that the seagulls forgot; that now only the ancient spirits know.
These notes that precede and proclaim the farewell that is to come,
Once again trapped within the confines of her paradise,
Calypso will cry once more when the man she had loved would have to go,
Deep within her aching heart without any comfort, her tears would have to suffice.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 6:17 AM UTC
i make these decisions without thinking
but then again, don’t we all?
there are some things that must be done
on the whim of a heart
or the quiet suggestion of a sudden realization
that the path to take has been cleared
so did i do the right thing?
i guess i’m just not used to opening my mouth
without thought to precede every syllable
and so decisions like these
take me weeks
and this has taken me days of split-seconds
long steps strung together
to make one big breathless change
and i am not left in the wake
of all this, no, i am
riding along
and i know this for sure, a new feeling
of certainty that i missed
feeling alive, occupying my own body
i missed the lack of control, i really did
and i missed the fear
i have grasped this feeling
and made it mine, while it has taken me
by the hand and pulled me forward
before i could ask a second time:
did i do the right thing?
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
XXXVIII
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since, it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its ‘Oh, list,’
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which love’s own crown,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, ‘My love, my own.’
2.9k
Pain
A single word
Short and sweet like the events that
Precede the emotion
An emotion
Invisible to all eyes
Except the one it is home to
Eyes that are as blue as the ocean
And as captivating.
They have to be mysterious
Deep, dark, and elusive
Eyes the
Window into ones heart
Not mine though.
My eyes lie
Deep enough to drown
To drown the emotion in
Dark enough to hide
The tears that rain down
To wash away the pain
They lie to save others the
Pain, of bearing my blue memories
Eluding others
Who are too blind to see the tears
Hidden in my dark hue
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 4:27 PM UTC
Inside your little mouth, a crucifix and a hula hoop plant great capers on the short hash marks on your glossy pinkish lips. Like a boardgame I can't win all by myself or a song without a tune, like the melody that chases strangers, or any words that precede goodbye.
The future is coming quickly now, serfs lining up to set fire to their nostrils, take the cue ball and whet their mass wicks for the apostles. Anecdotal anomaly that J-walk over crosswalks whose life then becomes an apostrophe. Morbid fixture on the substrate, creatures limitlessly nodding. A grape-sized egg fills its own unit and erupts to shape the outlet. Your verb-legs may appear demonstratively while you crowd surf, we should play the music louder while we practice all our dance work.
Sunday morning we wake up stiffly, my jowl hurts from mouthing softwords, the nights' adventurous perversity of thwarting dinosaurs with Cobra Starship. Even the back room closet manager gave us enough bleach to see our eyelids, frothy nictitating flitters drop freshly severed lashes that inspire wishes and sultry playlists.
Consecrated mien market of company meals. Underneath the cable cars the dye blunders sores in my eyes. Said I had to go, said I had to die. Said I had an itch but I couldn't get in front of all of this and unwind. Between all of the bees and buttered flies he made it hard for us all to survive, or service this state of our lives. I recall schoolyards where children paid to their dimes for us to see the spaces in the middle of lines, the circles on the circles we liked, stuck in bubble baths with crayon all on their hands. For the price of staying alive I deliver a bribe to sway eyes from the crimes of street dwelling inner-city sinners with stomach contents' upsetted by the rough ********* of heavy petting. She eats red licorice rope with with my fingers rubbing on her tongue. A pedagogy I use to teach, but pretty much no longer have a use.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
What if Escher had it right
and "within" is really "without,"
and stairs turn inside out
and "up" is just the same as "down?"
Imagine if you will
a "topsy-turvy" sort of place
(or is that "turvy-topsy")
where time marches retrograde
and all effects precede their causes.
I know, I know, your life is busy
but can't you drop it all for half a day
and step out with me
(with Escher at our side)?
We'll cross the edge of time and space
where an alternate universe or two
is just a dream away.
Hurry up now (or then), let's go!
We have to get back
before the sun ascends in the west!
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 5:20 AM UTC
*did you come before us nightjar
were you before us water hen
did you precede us kingfisher
was the world happier before men?
were you here before us peafowl
caught you fish here sarus crane
chased rat you dreamy owl
was the world happier before men?
were you still there cute quail
chirped sweetly little wren
trilled melodies shy doel
was the world happier before men?
did you sing at evening drongo
danced you peacock in the rain
how was the world long ago
was it much happier before men?*
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
Vibrant colors,
droves of faces,
quite the happy daze
Tepid gods,
vast oasis,
such euphoric haze
Visions sublime,
befuddled senses
precede the happy dance
Creativity sparked,
mother nature's dreaming,
find your totem in the trance
by Mercurychyld
©
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
that tree on the hill, in the midday sun unfurled
a majestic gnarl of old glory, sustained by a bounty of Time
a thing full of slow thoughts, thoughts that precede our asking
whose branches have forsaken hands
in favor of open arms
that have no word
for love
and
yet
that’s all it does
we sat beneath it’s wholesome fuss of ripe fruit, sinking in.
you in your yoga pants, poaching a dragons egg
in thick blue grass
i in my cups, sipping vineyards of brandy from a deerskin champagne glass
staring at your beautiful joy
the both of us slouching on the couch of Creation
each
with our own
remote.
we were up-close
noses pressed against pollen parasols parading in heat mirage camouflage
holding a moment without pause
we picnic in the thicket of an endless gift
like ants on a blanket
the width of the
world.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 1:37 PM UTC
A full day's work
Has me feeling exhausted,
But as I take hard rights
And skirt the uneven pavement
I am a machine.
I am fused to my seat,
And two spinning plates
And one fork are
Extensions of my will.
The nine point five miles
Seem so much shorter at night,
After the suits have made Their daily rushed exodus,
And the streets and avenues
sleep, quietly.
It rained all day, so the road
Is wearing a blanket of diamonds,
And the motor oil wrinkles shine.
The downpour has filled the world
With fragrance,
And as I pass through
Affluence to arrogance
To intolerance to vagrancy
On my trek across
A divided city
I'm overwhelmed.
Honeysuckle and lilac
Give way to pine and dogwood,
Then car exhaust and a polluted river
Precede wet garbage, dog ****
And marijuana.
I saw my first rat in the District tonight.
Nine months in,
And I've only seen one.
It makes me glad I grew up
Where I did,
Where all you need for
A rat in your apartment
Is a baseball bat
And a Lightning Bolt record.
I'm glad I learned how it feels
To live with two feet
Planted firm to the earth,
To feel harsh 1930s sidewalks
Haphazardly littered
With broken glass
Burn my bare feet
Every summer,
To feel the cool
Narragansett Bay sand
Sleeping just under the surface,
And to feel the sole
Of my five year shoe
Finally give up.
I'm glad I've seen success
From the underside,
So that when my arthritic hands
Finally reach up and grasp it
I'll know what to do with it.
But mostly I'm glad
I get to pull up to my building
At ten past midnight,
Sweaty and tired,
Climb three stories with a
Bike on my shoulder,
Pet my cat, and crawl into
Bed with a warm soul
Who was brought up the same,
With no clouds
For her lovely head
To get lost in.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 8:47 AM UTC
De miradas polvorientas caídas al suelo
o de hojas sin sonido y sepultándose.
De metales sin luz, con el vacío,
con la ausencia del día muerto de golpe.
En lo alto de las manos el deslumbrar de mariposas,
el arrancar de mariposas cuya luz no tiene término.
Tú guardabas la estela de luz, de seres rotos
que el sol abandonado, atardeciendo, arroja a las iglesias.
Teñida con miradas, con objeto de abejas,
tu material de inesperada llama huyendo
precede y sigue al día y a su familia de oro.
Los días acechando cruzan el sigilo
pero caen adentro de tu voz de luz.
Oh dueña del amor, en tu descanso
fundé mi sueño, mi actitud callada.
Con tu cuerpo de número tímido, extendido de pronto
hasta cantidades que definen la tierra,
detrás de la pelea de los días blancos de espacio
y fríos de muertes lentas y estímulos marchitos,
siento arder tu regazo y transitar tus besos
haciendo golondrinas frescas en mi sueño.
A veces el destino de tus lágrimas asciende
como la edad hasta mi frente, allí
están golpeando las olas, destruyéndose de muerte:
su movimiento es húmedo, decaído, final.
2k
Finally this Movie he must Concede
And honour Tradition of Two Hearts meant
But kindly understand with this Precede
The Fire-Actor once refused to bend
He was once the Hearter; For a Year or so
Wherewithin his Invitation took Form
Now he is the Elder; In Months to go
Wherewithout his Uncondition took Soul
May I suggest those Two Stunning Horses
Once you and the Diver visit your Range
Ride Mighty, you Two! Pour out your Senses
Let your Parents know how much you two Gauge.
Now after the Ride, each share each own Sweet
A-Top Mum's Basket where once you both meet.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC
My existence weighs heavy today,
Heavier than any moment to precede it.
I must decide now what will be my way,
If I shall rise to victory or remain defeated.
But in all truth, I feel not afraid.
Other challenges, I have vanquished
Lacking that languished hand of aid.
Yes, life is my special stage.
I shall revel in it's light,
As well as that of my new age.
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 3:36 PM UTC
In texts so normal we find
Unraveled yarns they left behind
To swallow a dry pill that bruises a dream
It tends to be the easiest of things
I’ve left my yarn in tranquil holes
Dug so deep and filled with snow
Underneath lie the bodies of old
I tell myself
Who could have known?
Mended with gauze and fixed with scraps
The vessel caves in and the flies come back
The whither and tremble of a soft human hand
Which quivers so lightly through weakened grasps
I ask this old woman now barely stable
Did your yarn precede the marvel
Of a young child, bold and able?
Did it graze him and make him wiser?
Powdered bone you hid under covers
How the leaves and meadows of your memories
Reach for both ankles, pushing you gently
Towards a beckoning boney finger that urges you closer
Will such saccharine visions bury six feet under?
So it goes
The yarns unravel now, as they always have
From birth to the backwards prance of descent
She holds me, whispering me her loves, her life
And my tears unfurl with hers as I ache, hearing such words
Who could have known?
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC
*What you don’t understand
Is that I don’t think like you
I don’t wait in line
Because there is nothing that I need
What you don’t understand
Is that I’m not turned on like you
I’m not a thrill seeker
Because I don’t crave speed
What you don’t understand
Is that I’m not impressed
I don’t have to prove my manhood
Because I already planted that seed
What you don’t understand
Is that I don’t keep up with you
I don’t care anymore
Because I am not full of greed
What you don’t understand
Is that you cannot control me
I made you angry
Because we never agreed
What you don’t understand
Is that I don’t live in your world
I’m not trendy
Because all I do is lead
What you don’t understand
Is that you cannot reach me
I am not vulnerable
Because I will never bleed
What you don't understand
Is why I won’t laugh
I am not fooled
Because you are so full of need
What you don’t understand
Is that it will never work
I will not be compromised
Because your plan will never succeed
What you don’t understand
Is that I seek the truth
I reject what you stipulate
Because I don’t eat what you feed
What you don’t understand
Is that you will never know
I don’t have to explain
Because I have my own creed
What you don’t understand
Is that I will soon be gone
I only warn you
Because I want you to take heed
What you don’t understand
Is that I don’t have to run
I will never follow
Because I will always precede
What you don’t understand
Is that you will never understand
I will prompt questions
Because I will always mislead
What you don’t understand
Is that your time is short
You will soon wilt
Because freedom will **** a ****
All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2011. Mark Lecuona
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 9:00 AM UTC
Inside your little mouth, a crucifix and a hula hoop plant great capers on the short hash marks on your glossy pinkish lips. Like a boardgame I can't win all by myself or a song without a tune, like the melody that chases strangers, or any words that precede goodbye.
The future is coming quickly now, serfs lining up to set fire to their nostrils, take the cue ball and whet their mass wicks for the apostles. Anecdotal anomaly that J-walk over crosswalks whose life then becomes an apostrophe. Morbid fixture on the substrate, creatures limitlessly nodding. A grape-sized egg fills its own unit and erupts to shape the outlet. Your verb-legs may appear demonstratively while you crowd surf, we should play the music louder while we practice all our dance work.
Sunday morning we wake up stiffly, my jowl hurts from mouthing softwords, the nights' adventurous perversity of thwarting dinosaurs with Cobra Starship. Even the back room closet manager gave us enough bleach to see our eyelids, frothy nictitating flitters drop freshly severed lashes that inspire wishes and sultry playlists.
Consecrated mien market of company meals. Underneath the cable cars the dye blunders sores in my eyes. Said I had to go, said I had to die. Said I had an itch but I couldn't get in front of all of this and unwind. Between all of the bees and buttered flies he made it hard for us all to survive, or service this state of our lives. I recall schoolyards where children paid to their dimes for us to see the spaces in the middle of lines, the circles on the circles we liked, stuck in bubble baths with crayon all on their hands. For the price of staying alive I deliver a bribe to sway eyes from the crimes of street dwelling inner-city sinners with stomach contents' upsetted by the rough ********* of heavy petting. She eats red licorice rope with
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
Again, I'm rendered speechless
by the strength of my distaste,
so I fly from the peak of sorrow
seeking redemption in tomorrow
Don't abandon me quite yet
to the ravenous famished monsters
that reside under my bed,
which I knew would come to take me
This is an era of destruction,
to precede the age of glory,
which approaches with the dawn
to bring an ending to the twilight
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 1:23 PM UTC
I remember you my ageless,
unyielding friend...
You come in the night
all dead leaves and limbo
resting between my chest-plate
and spine.
You are the quiet messiah
who turns blood into sap
and frees humanity from reason
by preaching the solemn sermons from the Lowly Book
I know you precede the Rust
of the limbs and of the trunk
as certain as entropy
So, then, I should also know of your leaving,
where I imagine cupped and ***** hands
will part my teeth
pluck and plant them between my ribs
to sprout ivory tangles that capture the starlight,
etched with the names and faces of those that I have loved
rooting me to the earth
in a place without time
in a world without you
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 2:43 PM UTC
It having been decided, herein is pronounced.
Let them know the number of days; let them count the number of days
and the count shall be 180.
Day 1 let him strike his head with his fists and call it "stupid".
Day 5 let the vomiting begin without surcease.
Let him dress for work as if he can.
Let him park and never drive beyond Day 10.
Let him pass out at the toilet.
Let him shed 100 pounds and all his hair.
He shall suffer such indignities as appertain
until he is brought to tears before his eldest son
of whom he shall ask, "Do you believe in miracles?"
Let there be no reprieve, neither for the holidays.
Let him wander out into the snow without a coat
and utter, "So beautiful. So beautiful."
All this in due course to precede the final 3.
The son and he shall smoke a last cigarette on the porch.
He shall proceed to the gurney and not see home again.
Let them gather at the hospice room.
Let him suffer terminal rage
thus shall he be manhandled by the sons.
On that day he shall be bedridden by narcotic.
Let him fall into persistent incoherence.
They shall play the New World by Dvorak.
He shall not hear.
They shall gather for the Rosary over him.
He shall not hear.
The eldest son shall vow to stay at his side
nor shall he sleep for 72 hours.
The son shall not permit the end to come.
The son shall take his hand and say
"Only God takes it away."
And when the room is empty but for them he shall sing softly
"Today While the Blossoms Still Cling to the Vine"
He shall not hear.
Let them all tell him it is okay to die.
Let the eldest son protest, "It is not okay to die."
In the final hours he shall struggle again
thus to be manhandled by the sons.
Then amid his incoherence he shall look the eldest in the eyes
and solemnly say
"I love you."
These shall be his last words.
Let them check his toes for signs of life.
Let the breathing come infrequently.
Let the breathing cease.
Let the son remain until they pull away the sheet
and display him in his nakedness at last.
All this to be accomplished January 15
in the year of Our Lord.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 9:10 AM UTC
mittened hands wrapped
around hot choc mugs
light-hearted bickering
over the tones and shades
of leaves yet to fall
chilly sun-streaked mornings
of fresh earthy air
and early hibernation nights
of gathered quietude
that indulgent autumn
for which she longed
seemed not to arrive
at least not as expected
set to follow the bright
bustling summer excitement
always written to precede
the forward-looking days
of winter's introspection
ordained as it was
by the dictums of old
those of time and tide
instead her blooming
has been a wearisome
back-and-forth between
the extremes of each
untimely and unexpected
yet unfortunately necessary
before she might witness
those flowers of hers
blossoming under
the warmth and light
of that newly shining Sun
Dec 1, 2023
Dec 1, 2023 at 9:55 AM UTC
She turns her head from it;
I turn my back to it;
It faces them in their deflection, they who are ruled by planetary alignment, they who spill rogue waves from calm mouths, just as the lace crashes and pools around bare legs and lips -
Any enigma free from transcription lies within the chasm, who sleeps buried deeply between two bodies, too deeply, it has been said, though perhaps for the best, as the truths who precede intent rest there as well.
We, the sea, urge in ad hominem, convinced of indelibility, consistent in breakage and dispersment of that which is built from and upon determined chaos.
Her, I, the sea.
Our madness.
I turn towards it; she turns to face it;
The sea has drawn it's long breath
We reach for the exhale with open palms, never closed, for the retreat is inevitable.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
its the difference between separation and anxiety
that breath taken and the stars you see
my head spinning and the scars they bleed
hands with trees and parts for thieves
taking more of our wants notta needs
deceive and leave before our guilt does freeze
precede to do what our greed internal feeds
triggers the fingers that only haunt our sleep
it treats the feet as stumps
smiles flip flop and fronts
drugs snorted huffed and blunts
man thats just the story of my month
mouth cancer after spliffs with lunch
abdominal six pack or beer crunch
i can stop taking all the medicine that is you
an addiction that i didnt ever see before it grew
its true
who knew
that you
would only humility the few
that tried,
never lied
and flew beyond more then his backyard or stoop
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC