"presumptuous" poems
I wanted to write about confidence
Not the kind that makes
a girl pout her lips
and hide her spark away.
Not the kind that makes
a woman look presumptuous,
even though she feels like
a little girl inside.
I wanted to write about
real confidence
The kind of inner beauty that
simply shines through.
The type of confidence
that smiles at strangers
and speaks her mind.
I wanted to write
about the type of walk
that isnt afraid of
little flirtig
and the firm step
that knows what she deserves
and what she wants.
I wanted to capture confidence
to unravel it
and put it into a formula
but how can I do this
if I still feel insecure most of the time?
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
One windy day the storm clouds came and blew the pages away. A book about presumptuous children who were lost in mediocrity. As the flickering reel of images flashes with burning waves, memories riddled with shame sunk into the ocean of flames. That is when the seducer of old cast his soul into me, into a river he fell, into the rivers of hell.
From page to page the pen runs red with ink, as we drift into the darkness will you remember me? The final chapter is left for you to read, I close my eyes and say your name, then conjure you a king. Next to a fire wrapped in a blanket a beautiful smile follows a kiss. A flickering light across her face, with poison on her lips. He slumped to the ground gasping for air, then death took his breath.
The serpent of false dreams forces men to crawl. A misplaced faith brings misery as kingdoms and nations fall. Into the burning windmill, the windmill of spinning dreams. As it burns a hole in your soul, will you believe what you see?
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
The solitude of when two hands meet garners thoughts of warmth and want for needs unspoken
I miss the days when simplicity was as common as the delicate exhale shared when two lips release from one a other
To gaze through sultry windows of the soul, soft yet weary with fervent witness, beckons notions of wanderlust to a place that shines brighter than any I've ever seen
I watch, bound by valor for not seeking more through presumptuous ineptitude; bewildered by the plight you've been mired by, I wince at the thought of harm coming to you
Your trust exudes a powerful purpose; wrought from the ashes of all that have claimed to impose before, I succumb to the surfeit of such a staggering meaning in that gift
I hold myself in bated breath for the day you would ever need my heart for your own, but stay guided to be here in spirit, ever more
Although my basic wishes be forlorn, in somber muse I find great purpose to be a part of this grand fate bestowed upon me
You are all I've ever sought; and through disbelief, I am remiss of all that's mired me before
If only, one day, perhaps we could be more..
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
I never could quite imagine the day
When a creature quite as wry and presumptuous
Would break so serendipitously.
She lay ruptured in the desultory plantation
The Stygian colour of her fur rebelled against the sage of the contiguous earth
And her eyes mimicked nothing but the pain that consumed her current thoughts.
Her body was transfixed in an inert trance
The fur on her hunched spine quavered in a subdued zephyr
Quiet insecurities were hid well in her tranquil pained state.
The moon intently watched me
Waiting for me to alleviate the agonized entity
But solicitousness was blank in my frozen psyche.
The moonlight pierced the fox with intimacy
I grimaced in the realization I had failed the universe
With my perennial void mind broken in vain.
The fox gathered some stoicism
The blessing of the moon granted requital
As the fox proceeded to maul my perception.
I accepted my retribution with ratification
As I was the soul who violated the creature
A skirmish that clung to grandeur.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 4:47 AM UTC
When I put her out, once, by the garbage pail,
She looked so limp and bedraggled,
So foolish and trusting, like a sick poodle,
Or a wizened aster in late September,
I brought her back in again
For a new routine--
Vitamins, water, and whatever
Sustenance seemed sensible
At the time: she'd lived
So long on gin, bobbie pins, half-smoked cigars, dead beer,
Her shriveled petals falling
On the faded carpet, the stale
Steak grease stuck to her fuzzy leaves.
(Dried-out, she creaked like a tulip.)
The things she endured!--
The dumb dames shrieking half the night
Or the two of us, alone, both seedy,
Me breathing ***** at her,
She leaning out of her *** toward the window.
Near the end, she seemed almost to hear me--
And that was scary--
So when that snuffling ****** of a maid
Threw her, *** and all, into the trash-can,
I said nothing.
But I sacked the presumptuous hag the next week,
I was that lonely.
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’Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow,
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purred applause.
Still had she gazed; but ’midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.
The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first, and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretched, in vain, to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat’s averse to fish?
Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretched, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between:
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to ev’ry wat’ry god
Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no nereid stirred;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
A fav’rite has no friend!
From hence, ye beauties undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand’ring eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold.
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Presumptuous, perhaps arrogant,
My perception of reality.
I invoke, with humility,
The Great Spirit and
Receive an answer.
Heavenly manifestations
In the form of trees,
Birds and dreams.
My reality.
But, what about me?
I am important.
I am destined.
I am.
I
Regulate and manipulate
My world.
Channeled energies, memories
Are brick and mortar
For the building of myself.
I build and build,
Adding rooms,
Windows, staircases.
My domain.
My center draws farther
From the edge.
Understanding expands.
I know more and more.
I sleep.
I dream of angels,
Of nature in bliss,
Of blue skies imbedded
With soft clouds,
Of worlds--
Many, many, worlds--
And, I dream of myself.
I wake up.
I wake.
I
Am aware, facing
A being not of my choosing,
Beyond myself.
Shrill whistles,
Bright, flashing bulbs,
Agitated bees,
Forgotten memories,
Woven into the
Space that unfolds--
And more.
No longer under my control,
The earth spins on
Its axis.
A world apart from me.
Presumptuous, perhaps arrogant,
My perception of reality.
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 5:36 PM UTC
Look at all the parrots--
Parroting the words
Of all the other parrots--
Of all the other birds--
Parroting profusely
All the same refrains--
Parroting the constant patter
In their parrot brains--
Parroting the preaching
From the pulpit to the pews--
Parroting their parents'
And their parents' parents' views--
Parroting their leaders
And their pompous platitudes--
Parroting their peers'
Pretentious attitudes--
Parroting the patriarchs'
Proselytizing that'll
Put your teeth on edge
With their pathetic prattle--
Parroting the poppycock
Of trite pontifications--
Parroting pernicious
And sly manipulations--
Parroting the pretty birds
Whose pageantry and glory
Appeal to their prurient tastes
In each pathetic story--
Parroting the songsters
With parasitic pleasure
And counting out the rhythm
Of every pitiful measure--
Parroting the powerful
Whose ploys are so profuse,
Leaving the powerless
Pummeled with abuse--
Parroting with passion
Presumptuous prophesies
With putative contrition,
"Humbly" on their knees--
Parroting themselves--
Together all in sync--
How they love to parrot
So they don't have to think!
- by Bob B
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC
Often, when I’ve escaped the strain,
The weight, the freight, burdening encumbrance
Of human society, community unleashed,
Profound distress, and a bit on the side—
I’ll contemplate
Of their judgements unknown,
Their penetrating, presumptuous eyes—
They tell me they love me, reputation irrelevant,
Trespasses, failures, habits—all disregarded,
And still I laze in my quaking of
Sleeplessness from apprehension
Pondering their thoughts obscured by their words
Heavens, a shrieking invasion!
Please don’t take that as the slightest indication
That I’m in any case a half-benevolent essence of them all
My ruminations drenched with a display of myself, my actions, my appearance
That’s proof enough that I can’t occupy a moment without me as the focal point
How can anyone be so vain
Low self-esteem shall consume my life, my breath,
And all of those thoughts,
So soon to drain...
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
I AM
just a poet.
young
naive
anxious
sensitive
fearful
and beautifully
uneducated.
Yet, eloquent
with words
as art.
Writing is the
red blood
which pumps through
my black heart.
So presumptuous *******
before you judge me
have mercy
and remember
**"she is only but a ******* poet"**
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
- A person must judge another by their character. Ignorance and bias media make issues out of race. If you are a person that does not understand any movement, then most likely you have never stood up for anything in your life. It is sad that divisions are at play between people when we are all the same. We are humans. Your *** race, or theology does not matter. What does matter is the fact that people come from different backgrounds. That is the only difference between people. You do not choose your parents. You do not choose your upbringing. A child that is handed everything will not understand the life a child has that only knows struggle. If you do not understand socioeconomic disparity and the reasons why they are in place, you will not understand injustice on a institutional level. When you see other races talking about ideologies such as "white privilege" it is completely justified because there are situations that a white man may not face ever in his lifetime, but a minority is aware of and taught at an early age because they will certainly come across it. The beauty of this country is being able to have an opinion without the fear of consequence, but understand that basic "Rights" are a fallacy. A right can be taken away. That in and of itself is a privilege. There is too much complacency within this generation and ones before it. You must have convictions. You must have beliefs that are not only based around religious faith, but the act of altruism. Does a person need to label something to reach a level a comfortability? No, not at all. That is a common misinterpretation of ignorance, when it is plainly a way to state that knowing what something is does not have to be explained. I'm not sure if some think education stops when schooling is finished, but it's not. And as much as people want to talk about this country and others falling to the wayside, it is because of inaction and not being able to unify and have empathy for others. Your life is your own, but to secure a future and continue progression we must all stand together and not be presumptuous, but rather be protective of community and critical thinking. There are too many losers in the system, and they aren't minorities, they're people not properly educated. You can't erase history as easy as you can erase atrocities that aren't just. Don't put your trust in your government, but your neighbors. But that doesn't mean that you should also exclude social programs that are needed as much as oxygen. This is the life you are given, and it is you decision to stand up or sit down. And if you do stand up, do it for the right reason: valuing life. If this message does not resonate with you, we have nothing in common, and that's fine, but don't talk about current events or social problems that are beyond your comprehension.
- Charlie
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 6:42 PM UTC
taunted by the adrenaline
he marched towards her reverie
white colored walls, lavender scented halls
his thought was this is his last resort
it conveyed a lot emotions
bubbling the excitement in him
for he thought he’s the owner
when he realized he’s the trespasser
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:02 AM UTC
There once was a presumptuous poet
Who thought his poems were the best ever wrote,
He was quite prolific,
Thought he was terrific,
But he never wrote anything of note!
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC
Sometimes, I wish my soul
Wasn't so sensitive
I extend my exposed hand out
For others to grab
Sometimes, my reach
Is acknowledged and held onto
Other times, it's crushed
With the overwhelming and
Presumptuous weight
Of being a burden and
A disappointment
This pain is very strong
This suffering tugs and
Drags me down
A sinkhole that I don't even
Notice I'm falling through
Until it's too late
Until I feel lightheaded
When my heart beats
In fluttering patterns
Until my chest tightens
And I feel a knot in my throat
It's hard to swallow this air I breathe
For at times, it's so dense and thick
But there's no fog, no illusion
Just allusions to the fact
That I'm tired...
Fatigued...
Exhausted...
A barren tree
A lot of life to give
But an abandoned seed
In my mind
That's what my demons tell me
This is my story of triumph
That I'm still writing
This is my journey
That I'm still fighting.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 1:52 PM UTC
When I die burry me in a poem
I am six foot six so make
My poem seven foot long
Make it from rich azure tales of Arabian nights
Make it's walls strong to protect
My remains from a Poe's delight
Rest my head on a pillow of silken vowels
Line the walls with chiffon
And wolfen howls
Place inside the words of my poems
Lest I be presumptuous
Under my tongue a copper coin
Lest they forget , leave the calendar of my last living date
So I can ponder how fragile life is
Death a certain fate
Finally , bury me six syllables deep
I pray , that my poems
For them to keep
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
The Marshmallows decided to have a top Party
Dressed gaily in white, pink, red, green and yellow
They mingled and floated around looking arty-farty
We're going to dance in town not partying in a garage
And guess what, We won't invite Toffee he's not like us
Go melt and burn says Toffee with rightful disdain
who wants to party with a bunch of soft silly buffoons
Overblown and presumptuous you lot melt in the rain
Nothing to you all but egging and hot air you poltroon
Who wants to dance with mixed up softies with no brains
I am Toffee hot and hard and always ready for the bite
You can't lick me in a hurry and I take a while to crack
I am brown with brawn and brains and ready to fight
Got rhythm with the moves, tastes and flavours top whack
Not some boring twirls or stumps gathered together tight
Come try me if you dare and see me squash you down flat
I'll go into you hard your softness yielding like knife on butter
Can marsh you with my strength till you're nothing but mellow
Or stick to your puffy wooly state and squeeze you still flatter
Till you beg and squeal your surrender showing you're shallow
I am not like you and don't think, see, look or taste like you
I am brown and sweet, hard and chewy and I really don't care
For emulsified vain brainless no substance marshmallow tools
Who can only be brave and big when all packed together like
So go party and kid yourselves softies I don't party with fools
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 8:34 AM UTC
1266
When Memory is full
Put on the perfect Lid—
This Morning’s finest syllable
Presumptuous Evening said—
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Hush’d are the winds, and still the evening gloom,
Not e’en a zephyr wanders through the grove,
Whilst I return to view my Margaret’s tomb,
And scatter flowers on the dust I love.
Within this narrow cell reclines her clay,
That clay, where once such animation beam’d;
The King of Terrors seiz’d her as his prey;
Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem’d.
Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel,
Or Heaven reverse the dread decree of fate,
Not here the mourner would his grief reveal,
Not here the Muse her virtues would relate.
But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars
Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day;
And weeping angels lead her to those bowers,
Where endless pleasures virtuous deeds repay.
And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign!
And, madly, Godlike Providence accuse!
Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so vain;—
I’ll ne’er submission to my God refuse.
Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear,
Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face;
Still they call forth my warm affection’s tear,
Still in my heart retain their wonted place.
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It’s a bit like shock therapy
When you’d come to.
It was the Depression, sure,
And I was barely clothed and fed
But I woke up refreshed
Realigned and adjusted.
A clean sweep!
Surrounded by my loving family.
Back.
So this is the way things are;
The way things were,
Before
But it’s not so bad in comparison.
That over there was a disaster
The so-called
“Loss of consciousness”
Was I in a coma?
With witch’s feet
And those dancing trolls
A road leading where and why?
There are no other roads, so who cares the color?
It was a horror story, not a morality play
They were so presumptuous,
What I needed!
They told me that I had killed someone,
a complete stranger
and
That’s when it all got worse.
Bluebirds fly
Yes I suppose they do!
You are right!
I got my wish in a sick kind of way
I went beyond a “rainbow”
as it were
It was bad.
I liked those gorgeous orange woozy poppies
but so what,
I was asleep anyway.
Do you see what I mean?
Chased by monkeys and
people who don’t really like me.
Not really.
Not any more than anywhere else.
Despite what they say.
Anyway, everyone clearly had their own agenda.
It was a matter of convenience and opportunities.
What was mine again?
Oh yeah.
For it to stop.
The Wizard was a Kansas Man
He said so himself
And when I showed up
Well he decided to clear out
I guess we were two Kansans too many
Stay with us Dorothy!
We love you!
All of us!
We don’t want you to go!
Doesn’t that sound a bit odd?
So I came back with this bit about
Well “if I ever look
for my heart’s desire
again
I will look no further
than my own backyard
Because if it isn’t there
(It gets good!)
I never really lost it
To begin with!”
Can you believe that?
I also relentlessly repeated
HOME
Euphemistically speaking
and the word
LIKE
Which isn’t really a total and complete
lie
And somehow it worked
It came to an end
I can’t really explain why but
It could have been a Jim Jones situation.
But do you think that I believed any of it?
I escaped
And now I think that I know how to do it.
And I can do it again.
But to someplace
Else.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 7:19 PM UTC
Whene’er I view those lips of thine,
Their hue invites my fervent kiss;
Yet, I forego that bliss divine,
Alas! it were—unhallow’d bliss.
Whene’er I dream of that pure breast,
How could I dwell upon its snows!
Yet, is the daring wish represt,
For that,—would banish its repose.
A glance from thy soul-searching eye
Can raise with hope, depress with fear;
Yet, I conceal my love,—and why?
I would not force a painful tear.
I ne’er have told my love, yet thou
Hast seen my ardent flame too well;
And shall I plead my passion now,
To make thy bosom’s heaven a hell?
No! for thou never canst be mine,
United by the priest’s decree:
By any ties but those divine,
Mine, my belov’d, thou ne’er shalt be.
Then let the secret fire consume,
Let it consume, thou shalt not know:
With joy I court a certain doom,
Rather than spread its guilty glow.
I will not ease my tortur’d heart,
By driving dove-ey’d peace from thine;
Rather than such a sting impart,
Each thought presumptuous I resign.
Yes! yield those lips, for which I’d brave
More than I here shall dare to tell;
Thy innocence and mine to save,—
I bid thee now a last farewell.
Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair
And hope no more thy soft embrace;
Which to obtain, my soul would dare,
All, all reproach, but thy disgrace.
At least from guilt shall thou be free,
No matron shall thy shame reprove;
Though cureless pangs may prey on me,
No martyr shall thou be to love.
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So many times
Trying to turn reasons
Into rhymes
Newest muse
Desperate attempt
Only to fall short
As soon as attention
Noticed
Wide eyed girl
Obsessed may I
Lacking depth
As soon as
Emotions copied
Or furthermore
Replaced
Gravity
With weights and stools
Climbing higher
Reaching further
Grasping air
While the painted red smile
Walked further north
And the Abled girl
With wide frames; golden bay
Lingered patterned
Against broken scooters and watched
While I made a fool over feet
In autumn leaves and new beginnings
You held my arm
While minds wander
Of heavenly thought
Of what it would be like
To hold your hand
And not mess it up
With my idiotic tongue
And presumptuous lip
Always rushing
Like one constant race
When the rules
Clearly states
Walk not run
Try to slow my tracking feet
From making another big leap
Intensively driven
Pretty glass eyes girl
Did you want me to admit my defeat?
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 5:30 PM UTC
Look back - my sight was black and white,
A decidedly dividing definition;
“Surely now I see what’s right” –
What a presumptuous premonition.
Fast forward a few:
“All scenes shall shatter.”
Nihilism, not new; just
Cognitive chatter.
Even Nothing now ends
in a burst of ferocious flame;
The love that she sends
renders the Big Bang tame.
You ask what I believe:
As though it’s set in stone;
As though there’s some reprieve;
As though I’ve fully grown.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 2:26 PM UTC
it's been nine summers since we left last off,
i never wanted to associate anguish with your face
but it hits me that there are certain things
i can never forget,
i cannot forget,
i will not forget,
that you made me,
shaped me in your delicate hands,
wove me under a spell that i have yet to
get out of--
you know you gave my childhood magic.
we lived in a kingdom of treehouse stories
and secret handshakes, our domain behind
white picket fences. we left our child selves
in your yard, remember?
i picked up the pieces of half
drowned memories, and put them by your bedside,
in case you thought to look and perhaps it was presumptuous of me to say you felt the same way
when i am the only one who is overdosed on nostalgia.
i'm sorry.
i am homesick for the arms i am not privileged to
be held with, homesick for the stairs that
creaked in your house, homesick
for a love i never deserved but always wanted.
i'm the old pick up truck your father threw away,
the ramshackle closet that got replaced,
the old curtains, oh god, oh, but this
is not about me,
this is about us.
we both agreed that we always hated the small town life
and planned to run away
but why is it now that i'm still holding onto spider webs
and your packed suitcase has flown you across the globe?
is it sad to say that in my dreams
we're still waiting in an empty parking lot,
and your head resting on my shoulder, the lights on the pavement,
it's already over, it already passed and the cars aren't there,
and the moment is gone.
maybe it's not the saddest thing in the world
to lose your best friend when the love
was never meant to be,
and maybe it's not the saddest thing to love
someone who will never love you as a lover,
maybe it's not the saddest thing to lose
someone who promised forever, even
if forever was only until we parted ways,
maybe it's not the saddest thing to lose
the first true friend you ever had,
maybe it's not the saddest thing to
never be able to walk up your front porch and have you come running
out to see me of all people,
but
it is the most painful happiness to see your smile
and knowing that i am not the reason.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC