"preliminary" poems
The Destroyer of the division machine1
Had first to run on the Way of the Cross
To have souls over the long lived ruin.
Robben, Pollsmoor and Victor2 caused no loss
In the Staff Heritage of the Thembu3
Rulers, forever loved by their people,
From whom was learnt right fight ain’t to taboo.
Good farmers’ teeth run right through the apple;
Likely after the Hard Walk to Freedom4
The Son of Gadla and Nosekeni5,
When his Soul flies up to the Lord’s Kingdom,
Glass will keep his body, and not any
Stain will sully the Star of the Nation
Whose Light will shine for each generation.
1. The division machine: The Apartheid.
2. Robben, Pollsmoor and Victor: During twenty seven years Mandela was successively jailed at Robben Island, Pollsmoor and Victor Verster prisons.
3. Thembu: The tribe over which ruled Mandela’s ancestors.
4. Hard Walk to Freedom: In September 1953, Andrew Kunene, a co-militant of his, read out Mandela's "No Easy Walk to Freedom" speech at a Transvaal ANC meeting; the title was taken from a quote by Indian independence leader Jawaharlal Nehru, a seminal influence on Mandela's thought. The speech laid out a contingency plan for a scenario in which the ANC was banned.
5. Gadla (Henry Mphakanyiswa): Mandela’s father; Nosekeni ***** His mother.
Boniface
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 8:33 AM UTC
I love the way you make me feel
its as if time stops
it seems so surreal
i cant wait for the night
i can sleep by your side
if all be able to with
your heartbeat against mine.
when you played your guitar
it caught me by suprise
i laughed to myself
and then realized
i have the perfect guy
that all the girls dream of
and getting you
was not even rough
when you get upset
theres no need to apologize
or even analyze
ways you can compromise
just tell me you love me
i was always told
to second guess people
see things from different views
because they are evil
but when it comes to you
i know its unessesary
this dating buisness seemed hard
but now its preliminary
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 4:30 PM UTC
I am a humming bird with a broken wing forming a geometric fall.
I am a conjoined twin with a foot in heaven and one in hell.
I am a geyser spewing out echoes from a stonewall well.
I am an open road stretched for miles paved with a murderous smile.
I am a man with a firm handshake who stands still on top of an earthquake.
I am a visionary man who slipped on fate and fell in love.
I am a preliminary hearing fallen on deaf ears.
I am the contribution to your retribution.
I am a person of depersonalization.
I am a one man army minus one man.
I am the desired taste of orange juice and toothpaste.
I am concentrated concentration.
I am the formation of your imagination.
I am the comma for your introductory clause.
I am the cause for your sudden pause.
I am the spatula that stirs up your anxiety.
I am the reaper who never leaves a clue.
I am the lace that always chokes the shoe.
I am the light that finds its way thru helping the little shrew.
I am the suburban white boy who sings the blues.
I am consistent inconsistency.
I am your assigned tour guide for your expiration exploration.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
oh sure, forgiveness of sin... or perhaps crimes... or just fetishes? like John Paul II forgiving sin, once polite society answered and John Paul staged the forgiveness session in a prison cell... forgiveness alright, acted out, with all the preliminary provisions readied - ode to Mehmet Ali Ağca, forgiveness always played out great for photography when all the Chinese laws were passed - Siberia welcomes all keen joggers; but you know one thing? raised in a canine environment as a child i learned to attach a different perspective with felines:
like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse - you keep teasing - you keep teasing - you keep teasing - you just wait... crocodile or boa insomniac - and when the opposite party has banked enough to cry about having lost it... you spit at your enemy's mother's face while ****** her; **** me! you get to prove god along the way! how's that for a Camden Market daytrip? and if you don't? well, it was a nice thought - feels like being a woman with a foetus craving doughnuts and pickles.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
I drafted my dreams out on a string from window to window
Where they could see some sunshine
So that they could feel the breeze that whipped the willow trees
I lay on the grass for hours hoping something would change
Everything seemed so strange and sadly serene
My dreams used to be such a large part of me
I finished my cigarette as the wind writhed, breathing
Pulled down the preliminary principles made of follies, folded them quietly
Walked inside, adjusting my somber eyes to darker lights
I open the closet door gently, hands full of my old fabrications
I keep lying to myself & trying to tell myself I'm
putting them away for
'safe-keeping'.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
I am neither lyrical JOHN KEATS
nor the great WB YEATS
I have never reached great heights
I am in my preliminary plights
I talk about fundamental rights
or the beauty of Diwali lights
most of my poetry is immature
but my friends praise it very pure
I know for sure
they don't want to hurt my heart
and never critisize my art
because it is the most sensitive part
But I know my own limits
I have got fewer merits
than unidentified demerits
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 2:34 PM UTC
Too many thoughts
But
Nothing to think about.
I don't even wear black eyeliner,
Why did I put it on?
I think this ***** ......... me again
Why do i feel so nauseous?
Open a dictionary
What's the definition of cautious
If the protection of my heart
Is always the preliminary.
That song
(our song)
Explodes into the dark
Frightening me;
Elightening me;
Heightening my senses to a free falling array.
This time.
Every time.
Lingerie?
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
This is a just war we’re fighting together
Somewhat of an accurate estimate of how we feel about each other
But still, we act naturally
Such a calm storm in the making
I mean, we are clearly confused, right?
I get that you’re simply defensively striking
Is there a random pattern here that I’m missing?
Or am I simply one of your deliberate mistakes?
It’s ok, I’ve come to a preliminary conclusion
Sweetheart we are the definition of typically unusual
And I will gladly confirm the rumor
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC
I've grown rusty and unused to summoning words from a blank page - but FINALLY - there's something new to describe. School (11th grade) is over - at last - and... more.
There's a party tonight - a REAL, honest-to-God, in person, PARTY - for about 30 of us. Yes, vaccinations are documented. Life seems to be beginning again.
I'm eager, like a boxer before the bell or a racehorse at the starting gate. I'm an animal, long constrained, who knows it's about to be set free.
I'm as disorientated as an awakened dreamer and I find myself laughing, drunk with possibilities as I try on clothes for preliminary impressions.
It's hard to quash tremors of impatience.
I'm sick of helpless, indifferent, pandemic necessity.
I'm SO tired of boredom, circling me like a vulture, in my panopticon palace - that I opted for a respite of pure terror - I'm SO clever.
I'm skipping my senior year of high school and heading off to university. I'd rather die than risk spending another year in my room(s) - I almost went crazy.
There's a paper on my desk, white as a bride. It says "ACCEPTED for fall term 2021."
I’m trying not to let on that I’m afraid. Is desire always a tangle of impossible, contradictory impulses?
I've decided that my life is my only real possession - my own, small, life-or-death riddle to solve.
I want to live with intent, like I'm aimed at something and I'm going to chase happiness like it could be caught.
My luggage is open - like alligator jaws. I stare into those tan, Ghurka depths - rigid with anxiety.
My sister (home on vacation from her surgical residency) sees me eyeing the empty bags.
"Are you worried?” She says, “You look worried."
I normally find the sister-teacher-coach vibe irritating, but now, somehow, it seems reassuring.
"No," I lie - then - "A bit," I admit, close-lipped.
But that's a later worry =]
Jun 13, 2021
Jun 13, 2021 at 5:34 PM UTC
Come on buffalo,
Open your mouth,
Of your oral cavity,
Let us collect some tissue,
And let us collect some saliva too,
And then we test for some trefoils,
Fingers crossed – let the expression be true.
It has got to be there,
We know it for humans,
But of buffaloes, we know not,
Let us perform a preliminary study,
There has not been much research,
There is just a foggy, hazy oversight,
Scientific charm – the expression is positive.
Molecular markers in the electrophoresis unit,
Mixed with a visualising dye – the ETBR,
Yes, they will dance positively as expressed,
Against 400 base pairs expressed are the TFFs,
Tough to master this technique moderately is,
We have to take numerous precautions,
Especially with the poisonous visualising dye.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 5:37 PM UTC
There was always at least five feet between us. It was actually a good thing in the preliminary stage. We could lock eyes without the urgent need to look away too soon. The intensity was containable in those five feet.
(speaks very fast) And then my stupid self went around and quickly covered four of those five feet. It is the laws of mitotic cell division god ****** You do not grow four feet in a day. You grow inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter. Ask him about that literature assignment. Shakespeare is responsible for excess glutton in today’s pick up lines. Wait for your friends to dare him to kiss you on a Truth and Dare. Wait for him to want to. Then, tell him, maybe, I like you.
That, in that one foot perimeter, I could see golden flakes in the circles of his eyes when clearly they are brown should have been the first sign that it was a bad idea. Five feet was our perimeter. Five feet was where we stopped. (points to own body) Five feet is where I stop.
For, I will never be anyone else but me. I will never experience, firsthand at least, what it is like to be a lanky six footer who hunches because she doesn't know what to do with her body. Or her exhilaration when she finds the basketball court. I will never experience being the Egyptian boy who has a chemistry counter in his kitchen, who asks his maid to buy him potassium nitrate. I won't know what it is like to be his maid who almost got arrested for asking to buy potassium nitrate (a component of explosives) in Egypt. I shall never experience courting like the characters in a Jane Austen novel. And how nice it must feel, feeling beautiful.
And I will never ever experience, what it is like to be his girlfriend.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
I don’t want to feel
I don’t want to know what is real
There is no reason to conceal
It is all so surreal
It is all so beautifully unreal
I like it that way
And no, you don’t have a say
Keep your opinions at bay
My life is not for you to display
I will not take this or obey
I am happy the way that I am
Isn’t that enough for you
Do you have to make me suffer too?
Along with you and you and you
This is all I ever knew
I swear it’s true
You say I can’t be happy the way I am
But I beg to differ and say I can
I refuse to be your preliminary exam
Because quite frankly I don’t give a ****
Don’t you see what you put me through?
I am worthy of this taboo
What say you?
Because I say “Adieu”
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 4:58 PM UTC
I’ve once heard musings
Of recitation reflecting an area
Of negligence that should
Never go forsaken.
Now, it is through my dismay
Which triggers my optimism
To lead me to believe this
Recapitulation has been
Extricated through a
Satirical voice.
However, in the event
That theses musings are
In fact, coming from
A discernible veracity,
Then I have done to you
The gravest disservice I would never
Dream to impart.
Allow this to act as my
Expression of regret
In this particular field
Of verbal lavishing.
Before the moment
You were my salacious secret
And preliminary to my yearning
For parallel mutual devotion
My capabilities of a
Tactile sense of normality
Were fleeting
Forever consigned to oblivion
Until the moment I
Allowed the craving to coalesce
With the collective.
It was then that I realized
The stimulus of my exuberance
Was not a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Rather, one brought on
When we lay entwined
Within one another.
Further musings have been vocalized,
Drawing sight upon the fact
I am twenty-one grams lighter
Than the commune.
Albeit, these musings have
Been satirical in merit,
The inherent truth
Is not controvertible.
Thus was the preceding case
To our amalgamation.
You are the sole vindication
I have a soul.
If there has ever
Been inequity
In my necessity to
Opulent you with
My own verbal musings
I do hope this
Can act as verbatim
If there should be
Any negligence within
This particular field of
Expertise.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
Won't you figure it out for me?
Isn't that what I'm paying you for?
You say some stuff and write a script,
then you send me out through the door.
You knew my best friend since I was ten.
You knew my old man for me.
You knew the word before it left my mouth,
and then you told me what it means.
I want my day in court
I want my trial:
I want my 'tempt at a fix.
Won't you please just diagnose me or make it up for DSM VI?
Just make it up for DSM VI.
I want a mile, but you give an inch; genetic tendencies.
I've got a void, you've got a cure, but this session's just preliminary.
This session's just preliminary.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
Outdoor life is oppressive in this city of the plains.
Dawn shines weakly on those few below.
Hot and humid will be here soon.
Marsha stumbles to the bathroom.
One last test: mid-stream *** into the container.
Still positive.
Dr Screwell's services are much sought after.
His fragrant personal assistant cannot always guarantee
a timely consultation; Marsha was one of the lucky ones.
Shower, dress carefully — understated elegance is what's wanted.
Breakfast without savor.
Prepare for the visit. No drama;
just a preliminary informal discussion, you know.
Marsha walks from street to street, distracted.
No use now saying "I wish ...".
Two alternatives, both unacceptable.
Who can she approach for guidance?
Herself, only.
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
The reason I left was not of your being
It was that side of you kept well hidden, not for seeing
The preliminary basis of a concealed fact
A genuine warning sign maintained with tact
It restrains your hands and demeans your worth
While contemplating the test next time around that you'll see Earth
Slender body in my arms but your vision is crying
A feeling so horrible to give up trying
Dying each day to be born anew
With Depraved Heart sentience for filling that shoe
At first in your voice I heard inspirational phrases
Peering through the rain for better weather phases
Fighting and twisting to match their ennui
But you bounded through all the reciprocity
Catching the vapor updraft with that shy grin
Remembering the skin you're wearing is genuine
You march to that drum beat sounding the lightning storm
Of A cold heart blowing in the wind, unaware that it's warm
So in breaking your heart you'll hear love again and take flight
Prance with every step and paint a newly blank canvas full of fight
The part of you crying, "missing puzzle piece hidden in plain sight!"
Is the very same light within you I've seen shine so bright
And know I came to realize by the end of this night...
The next day and Tomorrow are yours to write
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
I breathe softly
My heart whispers, "Stay"
My body deems, "Hold me tight"
And in my mind echoes, "Never let me go"
The blood and veins underneath my chest are very much alive and throbbing
I melt into him as we lay embraced in each other's arms
The sound of rain falling in the background
I listen to the raindrops as they tumble onto the window behind us
Sliding down
Running their fingertips over the clear semblance
Playing nature's music like a drum
Lulling the two of us into a deeper reverie
His touch lingers on each portion of my skin
Warm and tingling
Turning my heart red
Opening it
Turning it inside out and outside in
It is all so surreal
I am having trouble believing in the reality of the moment
The reality of him laying next to me
His strong arms wrapped entirely around me
My eyes have not once left his
I stare into them
Look at him longingly
The feeling painted all over my face
And I quietly tell him I do not want him to leave
To which he quickly replies, "Good. Because I don't want to leave either."
And glistening smiles manifest across both of our faces
Still gazing into each other's eyes
We get lost in the moment
Once more
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 6:52 PM UTC
IV
Pizzicato pianissimo
its sound gestured into resonance
a slight plosive of winds sustained
Arco – a lament in falling thirds
whispering towards an upward leap and a hold
crescendo decrescendo
Imagine his imagining in nature’s realm
(that patient catalyst for the solitary maker’s mind)
now guarding here its assembly in a sounding out
Adagio – in a three-fold telling
A measured preliminary to the music’s soon-to-dance theme
before rising scales and emphatic chords – Allegro Vivace
V
Words on the rise
bricks on the going
then in the hall on the wall
A poem you simply have to read so
crouch close to the Suffolk brick
don’t mind those descending shoes
The verse is laced with words of sound
breaker march cry rumble clap
cueing memory into remembrance
And why why here
where formal musicking lives and rules
are we noised down steps by a boiling kettle?
VI
As the water holds its breath
so a dense cloudscape
forms and floats
Inverted
mirrored
wholly still
it replaces the water
with horizonless sky
and extended reflections of grass
But as water exhales
clouds coalesce
a right perspective restores
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 6:45 AM UTC
You're sitting wired up.
The white coat shifts past you and
beep
all the hairs on your arms stand to attention.
It's only the machine reacting
to your quickening heartbeat.
Surely there’s no need, sweetheart?
Name? (only a preliminary) You reply.
It’s a start, I suppose.
Pen across paper,
a biting silence as you squirm.
Is it uncomfortable, being watched? Waiting?
Darling, why the damp forehead?
Beep
Beep
Beep
Your mouth twitches at the sting of words
as you try to swallow the lies
like cyanide.
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 5:40 AM UTC
tired of the voices in my head
*blunt spoke, they never shut up, believing their longevity
provides a grandfathered status, denying them dispatch
they do not acknowledge my notice of eviction but the
rumbling is quieter this morning, the mournful bittersweet
residue of their whining, wrecking, nearly murderous noises
their recital of my major crimes, weak selfishness that was the mirrored reflection of my weakness and jealousy, the hallmarks
of the failure to be brave at the moments that mattered, indeed, my own murders Eye-confessed-committed but yet unpublished, remain
flawlessly bawled out loud, with repeat threats to remand me to
a higher judgment if I escape responsibility in this world, which
is laughable as they have played accuser, prosecutor, jury
and judge, so oft that the processional process, my living justice, trembling, slow destruction is preliminary a full color, living hell
but this sabbath morning of a blue sky after forty days/nights
of a cold rain that relentless fell, sparing none, gives me a pretense, a veneer of an almost-bravery to dial till a click clean heard of a
thunderous silencio, “no más” no more and a sudden abrupt of
is this not preferable,
this silenced soliloquy of modest relief
and weep guilty~grateful for a reprieve, a small pardon that
undeserved for the heinous things I have permitted, nay, allowed, will never earn parole, early release, and the finality of no more delay, is a inevitably undeniable, and a poem
of excuses not successes, and an acknowledgment that
I’ll never seat at the head of a table
revered by my progeny
welcoming the arbitrary invitation delineation of a new year,
a fresh start*
Sat Dec17 2022
New York City
Dec 17, 2022
Dec 17, 2022 at 9:38 AM UTC
It's a light feeling,
Like a fistful of tiny scribbled hearts
on the edge of your paper.
Then it grows and glistens,
Like a spark in your stomach startling
the stable butterflies into chaos.
And it gets bigger,
Like the roller coaster drop in your stomach
tinting cheeks pink upon arrival.
Yet it beats you down,
Like you're just wasting your feelings on
a gamble you weren't sure you would win, but
Still the feeling grows,
And you grow sore from the stretched heart beats pumping still,
reaching out to try beating harmonies alongside the preliminary.
Over and over we try,
The next time always hoping pink roses will darken to red,
hoping they won't crinkle into withered fallacies again.
And again and again we find ourselves
Breaking our hopeful smiles at the sight of what we want-
given to someone else.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
the modern ills we face
all have ancient roots
back to one old Tree
a Tree of this and that..
from the Tree a virus spread
with special virulence now..
anxious ills and worry
fueled by this and that..
few seem to know
a medicine is extant
and really here closeby..
yet mysteriously hidden
alas..in our plain sight..
a preliminary dose
is a simple location..
to find a bit of this in that
and that in this..
a spoonful will send us
on our way..
a transforming surprise
an immunizing gift..
a gift when recognized
clothes armor to confront..
new dark incursions
of the virus we now name
the familiar this and that..
yet now we might be offered
a second dose
stronger than the first
a sudden recognition
there's really More than
this and that..
this special More that
we now swallow..
a More of special beauty
enclosing only gentle hints
of our former
this and that....
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 11:15 PM UTC
The house is quiet, except for the hum of the clothes dryer, which I started to make sure the tennis shoe my son soaked trying to remove the dog poo, was dry before school starts.
I can choose to spend these lonesome hours before all the others start to wake in any way I desire. And I choose to sit here at this computer and try to write a way into others' hearts.
The sun isn't quite up yet, but as soon as I start to see light break through my dining room window, I will be moving to the back deck, where I always, get to see a perfect sunrise.
And I can move back and forth, sometimes side to side, and if I feel like exerting the energy, almost even in a circle (almost), on my wooden swing, with daybreak in my eyes.
It won't be much longer before the rest of the house wakes up, and I begin all the daily tasks, like pouring cereal, putting the dogs outside, and trying to get the kids to do just what I say.
It's usually a panicked rush to find a missing shoe or bookbag, and changing shirts a couple times. This morning I did a few preliminary tasks to prepare. Glad I got up early today.
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 8, 2010 at 1:05 AM UTC
The after goings on
When the preliminary is over
and the smell of rotting flesh
has become soil
possibilities are endless.
To be an oak or an olive tree
or a preening almond tree.
A yellow spring flower and green grass
so beloved by goats and children.
Or simply irritating weeds
in some curmudgeons garden.
I would, like to be a stallion
but since I can't be anything physical
It will be plant life for me
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 5:35 AM UTC
Truth carved by the bold
Wish you were the muse loved by the World
Art belittled to products, hurts like brand-new shoes
My heart brittles for such, coz’ of these brand-new fools
Cheers, accolades with standing ovations feeding our desires
I hear echoes late, is it withstanding storms with patience or cheating the fire? Get to the point where angry is Love,
And touch the soil so you can hang me for being a dove
Unnatured species promiscuous with the bloodline of Iscariot, the nerve…Read this uncensored thesis, like how you believe in Prometheus, syfys and these patriots you serve...
I’d Love to tell you that the yolk of my heart resonates a planet unknown…That the Soul of my Art will exonerate you from this magnet ten fold. That Existence is preliminary to existing, not the other way round. That this is the military of my existence, to figure the way out…
But…when last have you seen a human being?
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC