"preposterously" poems
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You are a really good fisherman,
And I am just but a foolish fish,
*Preposterously bitten your hook,
With your bait of feigned love attached to it,*
Piercing it all the way to my heart,
Leaving me wounded with all of those prevaricates I've fell for,
But I don't know why,
I still love the feeling,
That you've been jumping in gladness,
That you've finally caught me,
Even though I was hardly breathing,
'Cause you've taken me away from the place,
That makes me breathe and gives me joy.
It somehow gives me relief,
Seeing the auspicious sun,
Brightly gleaming into my beautiful scales,
Not knowing it was just a start of a baleful Gehenna!
I should've known all along that it's just an entice!
But I am still blessed,
'Cause I have manage to escape,
While damaging and harming myself in the process,
From the jailhouse that you've locked me in.
From then on,
You've learned a lesson,
And use NET instead.
© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
today is the first
I’ll start from here
here, where nothing appears
yesterday was the third
when obligation crashed
and disposition screamed
tomorrow will be the second
if inhibitions boom
and expectations rise
—————————————-
today I wasted a day
I drank and thought
kissed and fought
slept a lot
the sun was wrought
the color of grey
yesterday was when I died
my contention deserved glee
sadly, mistakes flourish in vanity
what did come, rhymed with misery
a folded smile you’d never see
preposterously snide
tomorrow I’ll live
to once again fill
what failed and might still
shatter and spill
******* obstinate will
with nothing more to give
—————————————-
that’s why we recycle
minutes for days
seconds for hours
sorrows for life
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
If only for tonight,
We'll kiss like lovers.
If only for tonight,
Meet me under the covers.
A kiss full of lustful love.
Lighting fire within my depths.
Like the sun from above.
A kiss with demanding eyes.
Pressing up against you.
From between your thighs.
If it's only for tonight.
Don't be fooled by these eyes.
Passionate more than you can handle.
The next kiss could be your demise.
If you want me for tonight.
Hold me like I'll never leave.
Nail marks down my back.
Together we'll both believe.
That this wasn't one crude mishap.
But a twist of fate.
Preposterously perfect perhaps...
Just for tonight.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seemed my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from my self depart
As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie.
That is my home of love; if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe though in my nature reigned
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stained
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
For nothing this wide universe I call
Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.
1.4k
Dad was a cad
was my uncles brother
and not surprising was his
affinity for my mother.
It all came around full circle
when my dad quite apparently showed
affinity for my Aunt Martha.
They settled all of that quite
preposterously
by having a
family reunion on the
night before Thanksgiving.
I Imagine they all had fun.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
They never started the same
They crawl up on her
They become part of everything
Dispersing across floors & furniture
A plate with fresh food
Thrown, mistakenly, at a wall
Shattering, only to breed
Innumerable monsters
Too much distress to even
Identify the name of
These creatures that
Preposterously morph around
The warm cup of tea she
Once held, warming her
Terrified self.
smash
Even with closed eyes, they haunt
Leaving the undecided question of
Is this some form of disordered
Disorientating other reality?
A rhetorical question, a statement
Of none expectant response
For these are for her eyes only
Her mind & her disorder
Running tracks, stairs
Streets, towns, cities
To no avail or answer
Worn out feet of battered soles
Stumbling the miles traced
Breadcrumbs, leave a Hansel & Gretel
Trail of discord, a cacophony of deafly noise.
smash
They are the disease of the night
They are the monsters of the mind
They are the enemies attacking a naïve self
Days spent, releasing fears
Of what once were dreams
Irrevocably impossible to change
For how is she to reach
Into a subconscious mind
Where the mice are chased
Defenceless prey
Victims of themselves
Slaves of the blackened sky
Where all there is to protect her
Are crashing stars, subsuming
Her very own nightmares.
smash
Stars setting her free
Free from sinful blasphemy
Awakening memories of
Unconditional love from
The honey moon set in
This autumn sky
Where all is forgotten
She is no longer the babe in the woods
A quivering girl, but a
Woman of remarkable wonder
Sleeping in silk sheets, bungalow number three
Château Marmont, 8221 Sunset Boulevard
Elixir of life, Princess of alchemy, believer
Of exoteric knowledge, trusting a
Universe, far greater than her.
smash
© Sia Jane
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
Chilling, to think
"social media" (whatever that means)
is really just building up halls
complete with old tattered wallpaper
for our ghosts to haunt
like a rickety Victorian mansion.
You,
Pinned to a wall by his van,
like a packet of paper
pierced by a preposterously red pushpin,
a coward is now getting off on being scared
shitless,
and overwhelmed with intoxicated rage,
because he was trying to claw his way home,
no matter the cost,
like a fearful animal,
and excuse
and excuse
and excuse us for our lack of pity.
You,
taken prematurely from your infant son,
your infant marriage,
your infant life,
you're still around, frozen.
Immortalized as you were,
tagged in photos.
"Desiree liked this"
bears an odd resemblance
to moaning from the basement
or footsteps down the hall
**** the bed
call for mom
Getting daily horoscopes
as though you still need
to figure out every detail
about your personality,
who you’re compatible with.
Virgos don't like spontaneity.
Scorpio is sensual.
Taurus are stubborn
in the way that
flowers at a tombstone
seem more sentimental
than script on a screen.
But then again the soul owns no
defined location,
no cage.
But, even more grim,
blow out the candle,
One day I'll be there too,
Plastered in white and blue,
When sleeping dogs should lie.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
The world is a gaping maw of ignorance
Filled to the brim with hatred,
Intolerance,
Unadulterated bigotry,
And millions of eyes,
Blinded mid-lobotomy,
That self-performed procedure
That protects the subject
From any sudden understandings.
Things are not as they ought to be,
But then things never were
And never will
Be.
The world is the way it is,
And those of us who couldn’t cut into our own calculating core,
Those of us who attempted the task with a torrent of tonics
Instead of hammer and shiv,
Find ourselves wandering through a wasteland of willful
Idiots and bigoted bullies.
Try as we might to open their eyes,
Open their minds,
We fail.
Their eyes are hollow shells and dust.
Their minds are awash with religious rules, rifles, ruination,
Walls, borders, fences,
Imaginary lines drawn everywhere,
Over everything,
And their brains are protected from learning anything new
Or different
By miles of scar tissue and an overabundance of barnacles.
So that leaves the rest of us,
The ones with eyes open, minds primed and wide,
Stuck.
Lost in a world of people who will never understand,
Never let real freedom ring,
Never erase the imaginary lines they drew themselves,
Never accept that everything they believe
Is preposterously perverse.
The more we try to spread the truth,
Attempt to put an end to the primitive procedure of self inflicted
Amentia,
The more they try to stomp us out,
Extinguish our flames,
Burn us to the ground.
But we continue to fight, to bleed, to die.
Sometimes because we still have hope that things can and will
Get better.
But more often than not,
We fight on because it's the only thing that keeps us
From picking up that ice-pick ourselves and becoming
Another one of the mindless masses.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
A blue
a blue
from under the brown
behind the square and
between the circles
Few and singular,
the blue takes a step
to the left and the South
Bereaved, the blue sits
believing
It is good at hockey
Faithfully skating,
mucking and making
musical messes
Its banjo twang and
its choir sang,
and the color red had yet to call it
Pity the blue
for it is truly
in trouble
Its flips don't flop
its whizz's don't fizz
Its preposterously powerful past pastor has purportedly put a price on its puny posterior
Poor piddly pathetic blue
But of course,
blues do not have butts
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
To-day we have repetition of parts.
Yesterday we had yesterday, tomorrow morning, we have tomorrow morning.
but to-day, To-day we have the repetition of parts.
While spies under the guise of dark, disguise our art.
To-day we have the repetition of parts.
To-day we have retaliation of their arts, yesterday we had yesterday, tomorrow morning, we have tomorrow; mourning.
But to-day, to-day we have replication of parts.
Bright minds might find a start, but requital is the name of our art.
To-day we have a revenge on our part.
To-day we have the reappropriation of purple hearts,
yesterday we had yesterday,
and the morrows sorrow follow furrowed brows on our enemies part.
Harrowing barrows and gallows are swallowed, by the dark.
Redundancy is a common commodity of ours.
To-day we have a thorough reconnaissance of our purplish hearts, yesterday will bring young blood to further our course.
to-day we will re-vitalize their wars, and re-cycle their arms.
We will retaliate, for every heart they have scarred.
To-night we will light up the dark. Insha’Allah.
To-night we have reciprocation of parts; re-coil; re-load; re-align reticle,
re-coil; re-load; re-align reticle; re-coil; re-load; rinse and re-peat.
a place of peace seems preposterously far,
as we keep firing into the dark.
To-day we have reciprocation of parts.
To-day we have repetition of parts.
Yesterday we had yesterday, tomorrow morning, we have tomorrow morning.
but to-day, To-day we have the repetition of parts.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 6:25 AM UTC
Dad was a cad
was my uncles brother
and not surprising was his
affinity for my mother.
It all came around full circle
when my dad quite apparently showed
affinity for my Aunt Martha.
They settled all of that quite
preposterously
by having a
family reunion on the
night before Thanksgiving.
I Imagine they all had fun.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
Poignant
In the way chance falls,
Irresolute
And without recall.
Preposterously
In foolish play,
Galling,
In it's heartless way.
Laughable
When whimsy, seen
Embraceable
As so obscene....
To Whom now
Falls the questing quest?
Perhaps,
To he, who claims, knows best?
Enmeshed
Though, in his quagmire slog
Retreats
To distant treeline fog
Where there,
In crystal silence, long,
.....
DISCERNS NOW!
......
To a Blackbird's song
M@Foxglove,TaranakiNZ
8 April 2023
Apr 8, 2023
Apr 8, 2023 at 9:41 PM UTC
Model me model a model of me
plasticine nose
styrofoam lips
eyes as green as the seventeenth sea, each eye a pea to peep out and see
the model who models a model of me.
ridiculous?
preposterously so
a fantasy
lunacy
but before you go
model me model and model it so
I model an alpine mountain from snow
it melted, just
thought
that you'd like to know.
Why put a full stop when a comma might do
why not a bus stop
a pit stop?
the mess that I'm in
hope the meds soon kick in
I'm running on overdrive
all cylinders firing
do you have any idea
how tiring this is?
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 11:32 AM UTC