"presumptions" poems
First came the false presumptions of luxury
The gaudy glamour
Bright dresses and dark suits
Awkward glances and ****** food
Eventually though
The evening settled down
And then, after the smoking and drinking
Came 1 o'clock, the worn-out end of a hazy day
Suddenly,
It was a smother of time,
a stifling landscape of clocks
a decaying of darkness
The night gave way to trembling cold delirium
And slow and slow down
A slide from reality
Everything fell
I remember barely a glimmer- a hand, an arm, red sheets somewhere
Eyes that whispered "what's wrong with her? what's her deal?"
Or worse yet, faces that didn't care
To see me, my wrists
Appalling in all their shivering shaken chill dust
In moments like this,
I am nothing but a fearful machine
Broken in its deepest workings,
All function altered.
Clamors and tremors of panic
Withered illusions gathered at my feet like kittens
I tossed the blanket from the makeshift bed
Lay upon my back and waited
Watched, frightened, the night revealing
The hundred ignoble, vile images
Of which my thoughts seems consisted of
They flickered at bit- against the burgundy hammock
And empty Baccardi bottles
2 o'clock shook the memory
A crowd of twisted things,
Torn and stained and coiling about my wrists
I move by the sway of these thoughts that are curled around me
-The notion of some infinitely suffering thing
Oh I only need a lighthouse
To guide my soon-to-be shipwreck home
I only need a compass, a crucifix, a presence
But never
never to be found
the way
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
You should do this,
You should do that,
Why these diktats I do not understand.
Are we living our life to comply?
Are not we here to supply.
Why we are to be part of some creed,
When in reality we all are from the same seed.
We are stuck in a whirlpool of sanctions,
And I do not know how to come out of this expansion.
Expectations are defining our life more than existence do,
And the biggest question humanity is asking
what should I do?
We are blaming history for our misconceptions,
Naming presumptions as The inceptions.
How we are going to move ahead,
When we are becoming a body with just a head,
Shedding our humanity for a mere piece of bread.
We are the creation and creators of our world,
All of us is an existence a real thing,
Our creativity is our ability to think.
Then why should we be like someone,
When we could be anyone.
I want to holler out at the world with this answer
Yes, we can
Because we are not endowed with a taste
We have a whole Selection.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 2:43 AM UTC
There is this idea, this feeling you say:
A revelation of profound compassion
Riddled with crippling paramount tribulation
Dribbling with drops of pontification.
Thoughtfully and yet aimlessly kicking
Unctuously vacuous presumptions. Promising,
Eventually, to unveil brick by brick
This facade someday and assure me
The imprisoning edifice, with which you keep
Under lock and key, will be effaced
And naked, soon, someday in front of me.
Yet, here another day passes.
From curbside to manhole, up sidewalks and across gravel grit.
Then a squib toward onlookers window shopping
Glaring down at me as both they and you listen
To my dissonant and hollow caterwaul.
CLING, CLANG, BANG! Look at me I'm just a can!
Crumpled and malleable, a thin sheet of five cent aluminum;
Recyclable, reusable, just a means to a mans end.
Ah! But I am not what you think I am:
Within, a bountiful boisterous bloom, unravels
The arid breath of lies and procrastination you exhume.
Your insipid words fall vapidly in my mind like corroded rust
Gently drifting onto a lapping lake.
They are an erroneous ear infection boring my wits
And dulling my thoughts, a waste of time.
All of it bottled, canned, and manufactured
From within your ******** emporium.
Keep your bricks and mortar, think they retain your unctuous pride
While this time, for once, I kick the can curbside.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC
last night i found out that you still hold a cigarette between your lips and i just want to smack your stupid face for not quitting,
but what hurts me even more is that you didn't offer me yours and i have been thinking of buying one pack myself and drowning myself in pity and coughed smoke/
what i hate to admit is that you look even more beautiful with a cigarette between your fingers but i refuse to go back to my old self, to the old me who loved the boy with no heart, with smoke in his lungs instead of air, the boy with charming smile, because he wasn't even real, it was a person my mind had created in hopes he would become even more beautiful than he already was/
but at least i hope you had fun on new years and i'm thankful that some girl's lips weren't pressed against yours at midnight, but i don't love you anymore, so i don't know why i even care/
but even with smoke in his mouth, i knew i wanted to kiss him and savor his taste, which i only had presumptions of-
maybe his tongue was a mixture of mint and hurricane or strawberries and sun kissed rose pedals or maybe chocolate and rain but i felt dizzy and out of place when the realization hit me that i will never find out how his lips tasted and felt against mine/
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
I sure miss you here,
(In the hope that
you miss me too)
And if you don't,
I don't know
where this narrow path
through dense woods
will take me at the end.
No way, I could go back
to the begining when
my hope is there in the
journey's end.
Presumptions, we think
would have no thorns to fear,
but cause vein jumps
again and again that may prove
the grapes were sore after all.
Every wish prompting one
to hit the road, often with
no rhyme or reason, would
have underlying conditions,
though unseen from where one starts.
Why, are we afraid to speak openly
how the journey would end
even when we set out so excited?
On your wall beyond the reach
of my eager eyes are sketches
still incomplete;
that may break or make me.
And what it does to you then
is an idea vague in my imagination.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
Her eyes are deep pools of cool blue.
Open but empty, staring blankly
Into infinite space.
Her smile - formed by wax-like lips -
Is stiff, emotionless, almost as if concealed.
but her mouth trembles as it traces
the letters of an irrelevant name.
Her scent moves through the crowd
and permeates your consciousness.
It shoves and pushes aside thoughts,
Making its way into your awareness.
A sound slithers into your ear:
A whisper transcending the noise around.
Despite the ruckus of chaotic discourse,
Her endearing voice is the only sound.
The night slowly grows old
Whilst more stories are told.
Histories fail to unfold
as endless lies are bought and sold.
(presumptions of non-existent subtleties
has claimed its fair share of casualties)
More is said, but less is revealed
Meandering timelines of hurt
Kept hidden beneath the scars
of wounds that have seemingly healed.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
Day after day I am consumed by
my mind and the body of my flesh
All these things I hold close
seem to haunt me and taunt me
My life of consumption is
brought on by presumptions
All my thoughts of Your name in vain
brought upon with such outward shame
Sometimes more with a little bit less
we gather our thoughts in a big fat mess
Outside our appearance seems clean,
but only to what lies in between
My voice cries out in the still of the silence
how can I bare such a defiance
You give me visions but
I will choose my own decisions
Day after day I cling to my world of
lustful lies along with selfish pride
You know my name and every move
Yet I hide and run from You
You whom I should aim to please
I only treat like the rest of these
These people who mean nothing to me
but all the most to Thee
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 4:39 AM UTC
How ghastly are those camouflaged and articulated presumptions, which are evidenced by their catastrophic and interpersonal lifelessness?
It is bad for business, when silent screams echo throughout the depths of unfathomable anguish and cross the mysterious canopy of dendrology.
You may have failed to recollect that fried eggs are not dissociated from electrical riffs nor uninvited objects which force their way through open windows.
My hunger was sincerely naïve as it surfed the waves of paternal mockery.
Therefore, take caution, as you pass those nocturnal insects which flutter their feeble wings in the corner of Glaswegian crevices with intimidating powerlessness.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
The heavens declare the glory
of God; and the firmament
sheweth his handywork.
2 Day unto day uttereth
speech, and night unto night
sheweth knowledge.
3 There is no speech nor
language, where their voice is not
heard.
4 Their line is gone out
through all the earth, and their
words to the end of the world. In
them hath he set a tabernacle for
the sun.
5 Which is as a bridegroom
coming out of his chamber, and
rejoiceth as a strong man to run a
race.
6 His going forth is from the
end of the heaven, and his
circuit unto the ends of it: and
there is nothing hid from the
heat thereof.
7 The law of the Lord is
perfect, converting the soul, the
testimony of the Lord is sure,
making wise the simple.
8 The statutes of the Lord are
right, rejoicing the heart, the
commandment of the Lord is pure,
enlightening the eyes.
9 The fear of the Lord is clean,
enduring for ever: the judgments
of the Lord are true and righteous
altogether.
10 More to be desired are they
than gold, yea, than much fine
gold: sweeter also than honey and
the honeycomb.
11 Moreover by them is thy servant
warned: and in keeping of
them there is great reward.
12 Who can understand his
errors? cleanse thou me from
secret faults.
13 Keep back thy servant also
from presumptions sins; let them
not have dominion over me: then
shall I be upright, and I shall be
innocent from the great
transgression.
14 Let the words of my mouth,
and the meditation of my heart,
be acceptable in thy sight, O
Lord, my strength, and my
redeemer.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
men touch me
like auctioneers--
with moist, fleshy hands
sweating for a bite, grazing
my scars with excuses, **********
the succulents on the coffee table
all under the rug with their
dusty presumptions,
hawking beneath
the skylight
with a hunger
for the bedroom
seventyfiveeightyeightyfive
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 10:37 PM UTC
Now that the proper instruments are arranged
his time of inscription nears.
He reads from the last page, backwards there
to find the beginning.
Whisking away the presumptions of page one
as mere suggestibility;
to read as the author reads is mission.
Why follow the staged footprints?
The book that neatly folds light between fine feathers
keeps out of sight what he wants,
headlong to reverse truth north, find relativity false
to find the blazing word for "now."
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 10:04 AM UTC
In this world there is content,
Not peace resulting from ignorance,
But from of a constant epiphany,
A continuous period of bliss.
With No presumptions towards secrecy,
And the Creation of lies, forgotten.
A world with no language,
No value given to specific vibrations,
But, value of conceptual understandings,
Portraying only pure… hmm what’s the word??
Idea, thought, concept, want, need, feeling, mood, attitude, intention
Alas, the flaw of words.
A world with no idolization,
Presence of worship missing,
Useless notions of transcendence
And false beliefs of punishment, lost,
Without fabrication through
Generations of distortion,
And lack of interest towards justifying mysteries,
But only understanding.
A world with no usury,
No additional value given,
To luminescent objects which capture attention,
And marvel towards possessions of large stature,
But, in a world of such nothings,
What is?
A world of simplicity,
A pursuit of self awareness and want of betterment,
Without intentions of grandeur,
Want of greater good, without hostilities.
Thinkers, always in pursuit of truth.
In this world there is content,
There is not war,
There is no religion,
There is no frail mind,
There is no necessity of grandeur.
There is no truth or lie, just understanding,
In this world there are no humans.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
Postmortem, precoitus
Precarious promiscuity
Pantomiming presumptions
Enriched Enouement
Envying earthquakes
Empathetically evolving
Natural naivety
Needing negligence
Nymphomanic nodding
Instrumentally insane
Insinuating innocence
Immobilizing imagery
Sarcastically singular
Sacred succulent
Swallowing Satan
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
Presumptuous to speak the obvious?
If only what we see is not as such.
Then all presumptions truly weigh not much.
Investigations make demands of us.
With every word the world is on to us.
Their weight of stares requires of us a crutch,
analysis of meanings and of such,
until of reasonings they empty us.
No man lies naked splayed before strange eyes.
He wears the clothing made in current style,
to give illusion pleasing to the world.
And so the world peels back the layered lies,
and lays them in a neatly gentle pile,
until the truth of man is full unfurled.
(C)2013, Christos Rigakos
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
"hey sweetie, how was your day?"
and she replied she was okay
but there was something on her mind
someone she tried so hard to find
she thought he could fix her
change her for the better
but he didn't
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
I know not how I get projected as a shy guy,
Weird presumption, I would now just say.
People come speak to me for like a few hours,
They just don't interest me enough to invite replies.
But most often, it happens in the classrooms!
Teachers are oftentimes the ones with this complaint!
Is only some overtly tough subject eligible for my thoughts,
For my words, for my questions and for my answers?
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 2:59 AM UTC
***My mouth was filled
With the taste of bad dreams***
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
Who knew, who knew I would end up in pain
Who knew I would lose my way and go insane
My heart beating so many times in fear
I try to cry, I force myself, what do I see - not a tear
I stare at myself in the mirror thinking what could have made me differ
What make me special, I'm I worth less of trillions of dollars or more
I try to make changes and life decisions
I tell myself to think and presume - presumptions
Life can be what you want it to be in the future I guess
Sometimes I look back to the past and think about the rest
Who knew, who knew my first sentence in a poem would be who knew
Maybe I did, who knew my first thought would be regret
I look at my past and now, I think about the changes, decisions, accusations, moments of empathy and sympathy, and procrastinations that I made
Look at me, all you may see in me is darkness deep deep inside but I know there is a light, all you need to do is find it with a caring heart
For who I am is who I want to be, I can change
And I can be a better person
All you need to do is believe and give me a chance
Have hope and we could have our first dance
Or even our last
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
I see a flower in the sun.
Bright and yellow
it blows back and forth in the wind.
In short, staccato vibrations
It moves like nature's metronome
To a beat I cannot hear.
I am caught briefly by it’s radiance,
It’s beauty.
I hope to capture it in a memory
One that I can reflect upon
And hope to bring me peace
In times more frenzied.
And yet to do so would be futile.
To do so would be to disrespect
The ephemeral nature of such beauty.
It would cheapen it with presumptions
That I could own it,
Carry it with me.
Like nature’s rhythm,
It is unknown to me.
To see it is to hide it.
To want it, is to offend.
To me it is beauty,
Yet it’s experience is one of turmoil,
Battered by the wind,
Wilting before my eyes in the heat.
It’s scent is cleansing,
But for the flower,
It is odor.
Inviting predators
To violate it,
To cut it down
To take it from it’s family.
It is a promise of pain.
And yet that pain is inevitable.
The futility of my desire to keep it
Is the flower’s futile desire to remain free.
And so I pass it by.
With a gentle nod,
I acknowledge our intertwined destinies,
That neither of us shall know peace,
And that in knowing this
We have found it.
The wind gusts up
The flower bends low to me
Then whips back aright
As if to say, it knows too.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 5:29 PM UTC
In the early sun, a dew soaked swing set basks in rust as we play
I find your eyes at the window watching.
Smiling.
I am safe. I know this.
Concrete paints my knees red.
And you totter over with peroxide and a hug.
I am safe. I know this.
You'd find a path to the sun if only it stretched my popsicle lips into a smile.
I stalk home past midnight; a stomach gurgling with liquors I can't pronounce.
I find you on the couch flipping channels as your eyelids turn weak.
You approach me with a slap I was expecting.
Then a hug
Then a slap
Then a hug.
I am safe. I know this.
I'm panting with worry. My mind racing. Each thought like a poorly aimed bullet.
But you somehow find a way to extinguish them in your fists.
Until my smeary wet mascara stained cheeks swell into a laugh.
I am safe. I know this.
It is winter and you sense my eyes so flameless, fragile.
I am restrained by the presumptions of my fate.
My arms have been ripped from my sides so naturally you tear off your own limbs for my use.
Your appendage helps me to climb.
I'm out of the ditch. Because I am loved.
I am safe. I know this.
It is industrial where the stringent work. I cower at the mass of its stolidity. But even then I find you, the earths drippy clay molding to my quirky nervous and dissatisfied self.
Everywhere else.
I am safe. I know this.
And my dear mother.
You are loved. I hope you know this.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
fat
annoying
ugly
A seed planted at a young age
Growing deep In my subconscious mind
Comments are made
Tears are shed
The critic is brought closer to the surface of consciousness
The seed planted oh so long ago sprouts and begins to blossom
Fat
Annoying
Ugly
I watch my plant grow
Helpless and full of desperation
What started as a question
Has now become a reality filled with judgements and critics
Presumptions feed on my thoughts like wildfire
Now an all consuming conflagration
Leaving me
Obsessed
Empty
Starving
FAT
ANNOYING
UGLY
My plant is now a dense forest
My fire burns brighter than ever before
FAT
ANNOYING
UGLY
WORTHLESS
HOPELESS
lost.
I am trapped
Lost in a forest fire
Created by my worst critic
ME.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 4:04 AM UTC
my heart beats for love, my beast to overcome
to not look outside myself, no longer divide myself
send kisses to above, but on earth, I succumb
Your body like cheap motels, perfumed idealistic summer tales
follow me into the season of orange
carve a smile in my face like a pumpkin
trying to keep the spark alive is redundant
who could’ve done it, I wasn’t
I didn’t look below before I jumped in
now I am swimming in all my presumptions
it was gold like a nugget, till it wasn’t
knew I could do better If I focussed on the constant
which is me and all my little flaws, if you could see behind all the walls
serpentine to carve my body from clay
morph and transform is all I know
my new metamorphosis awaits
Oct 17, 2021
Oct 17, 2021 at 12:24 PM UTC
I detest those ********
Who dare to think
Dare to presume
They know me after
Talking to me
For just three weeks
I detest those ********
Who think they have
Any demand, any right
To my time and attention
I hate the fact that
These ********
Seem to think that my
Primary concern
Should be their welfare
Their state of mind
But presumptions like these
They only serve
To help me sever
Whatever relation or connection
I had with them
I am not here to amuse
Entertain or look after
Their well-being
We are hardly good friends
How dare you even think
That I would care
Or that I would have to care
You can take your attitude
And your sheer stupidity
And shove it up your ***
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 8:16 PM UTC