"proceeding" poems
"What's one of your favorite hobbies?"
"I dunno.. taking an eighth of 'Shrooms and proceeding to clean the house
once each few months is a pretty fun and enlightening hobby."
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
From the warmth of her womb
to a wooden coffin
the cloth of her **** laid lifeless
Gone to soon, gone too soon
The pain was more than she could bare
after losing her only son
to the rough street of Chicago
where the kingpin rules
and the prosecutes parade
the dark corridors in dark suits
It's a mother worse nightmare,
when the law enforcements,
is train to **** and asked question after.
In fear of their lives,
however, two wrongs,
cannot equal to right.
Our judicial system defenses team toss
them back to the mean street
with only criminals intents on their minds
another careless proceeding gone wrong.
so, here I am
back to the crime scene
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 9:11 AM UTC
First forget what time it is
for an hour
do it regularly every day
then forget what day of the week it is
do this regularly for a week
then forget what country you are in
and practice doing it in company
for a week
then do them together
for a week
with as few breaks as possible
follow these by forgetting how to add
or to subtract
it makes no difference
you can change them around
after a week
both will help you later
to forget how to count
forget how to count
starting with your own age
starting with how to count backward
starting with even numbers
starting with Roman numerals
starting with fractions of Roman numerals
starting with the old calendar
going on to the old alphabet
going on to the alphabet
until everything is continuous again
go on to forgetting elements
starting with water
proceeding to earth
rising in fire
forget fire
8.5k
the banners are blowing steady
(fully extended in the hot august wind)
contemporary in style
tightly trimmed
and all gloriously dressed
in the latest colors and hues
it’s a fleeting distraction though
as the caskets
and children
and grieving widows
are rolled steadily across
the burning tarmac
it’s the beginning
of that inevitable
two part proceeding
a skotoma for the ages
delusionary in nature
rich in grays
and eerily reminiscent
of that foreign reign
clipped in silence
with dark roots of fear
set deep in the bowels
of a chapter
of unimaginable sin
indifference as pronounced
as the accompanying salutes
haphazard sentiments that are
cloaked in the horror
of endless
aborted days
forgotten buggies
and bunkers
and rat packs
*how could the switch
be set so wrong?*
it’s truly an illusion
(this way of the world)
simple indulgence can grow
so beastly and consuming
try telling the tale to the
tibetan monks
or broad peak sherpas
(those boys know how to get it done!)
how to bask in
the ice cold waters
how to savor
the lava hot falls
*couldn’t the others
have figured this one out?*
the flags have settled
at half mass
and are tinted
in a charred yellow brown
the lifeless dreams
and inspirations now
in the rear view
leif running solo
(exempt of his trusted gunners)
ready for the numbered lines
his eyes open
to the ever changing
enemy at hand
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 11:45 PM UTC
It's a dance
It really is
Skip and prance
Lifelong practice
Loop of songs
Never ending
Of various genres
Life is playing
There's the spotlight
World is awaiting
Pressure of eyes
Silently watching
Take your place
Assume your position
Execute with finesse
And flawless precision
Spin your pirouettes
Don't get dizzy
Maintain your poise
In this revelry
Along comes a partner
Present as a duo
The game now altered
From when you were solo
Two bodies now
Move in unison
Reciprocate and reply
Through steps made in heaven
Flighty feet
Intertwined bodies limbre
Sweet little performance
Elapsing into forever
With grace of ballet
Each other you'd catch
Intimate display
Think you've found your match
There'll come such time
Both will not be in sync
Episodes of missteps
Push you to the brink
Alone again
Or switch of partners
Find solace in groups
Still dancing for answers
Dancing with others
Much you can learn
From hip hop to the waltz
Together or in turn
Try to adapt
To different styles
Soak up all you can
May take a while
I've danced all my life
Can't say that I've mastered
Fair share of jeers
And accolades I've garnered
Always clumsy
Exceedingly awkward
Tripping and falling
Barely proceeding forward
It's just this dance
One with syncopated beats
It's just this prance
That my gait can't meet
It's just this stance
I often use as retreat
I realised in a glance
That I have...but
two left feet
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
There once was a black man... Old at heart, he fought verbally and accordingly with bold words, which abbreviated and arbitrated great art! He spoke of activism. Not just racial, and economic racism. He fought against demonic injustices for you, yes, made me see. He stood for principles of non-violence. Acknowledged corrupt government
mileage, European knowledge and college. A philosopher, teacher
and preacher as well as a civil rights leader. When he spoke his words of fire indeed chiseled and inspired. Causing some to conspire and also perspire! Born January 15th 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia. Named in honor of the German protestant Martin Luther. Bachelor of Arts
degree in sociology. Making a mark in doctoral studies, systematic theology. June 5th 1955 This King married Corretta Scott in Heiberger,
Alabama for many to see. Proceeding with four children: Yolanda, Martin Luther the 3rd to be! Dexter Scott and Bernice to increase the peace. Despite the European police, the movements and stressed
protests, the silence, ****** and racial violence. The segregation and interrogations in force, instead of integration of course. Black mishaps, lack of differences in relapse perhaps! Plagiarized and slandered, demised by some of the wise. Accused of communistic ties. Blinded
by others’ eyes and of our world’s twisted lies. Montgomery, Georgia
bus boycott, 1955 was the year. However, forever in disguise, our fear of tears was apparently adhered. From here to near, also all those dear. Mere letters he wrote, from Birmingham jail I quote! From the slums, some of sums, hail and prevail! A creation prevailing into a deriving and thriving nation. Mr. King’s vision of a dream, mission,
opposition, optimism and truism, on our wars, welfare and more. I suppose this sounds honest and fair. Mr. King’s theories and worries in emotionalism, evangelism, humanitarianism, racism and socialism. Nobel Peace Prize won in 1964. Regretfully, you may have heard of this before. Government conspiracies and indecencies. Assassination
and discrimination, allegedly, by James Earl Ray. On April 4th, I
almost choke, because for him, his blood did soak. Some thought this **** was a thrill or forced by will. Others still procrastinate in hate! However, forever Martin Luther King was and still is one of the late greats.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
But how the realisation of my very existence
has grown like flowers, yet none beautiful.
I have somehow stopped knowing myself
long ago, yet I thought I did find me
just yesterday, but I assume I was only wrong;
For it was a pretending song.
I think of my childhood hours
proceeding to days, to years,
and how they won’t cease to haunt
deep inside of me, screaming
from locked up and shaky towers,
far up in an unknown pointy castle
built of fragile flesh - a stupid body.
But, oh, to only have the key to these doors,
to find my breath again longing for;
to feel my heart once more throbbing for
that what I once thought was everything -
the things that now seem nothing.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
Speed
The rapidity in moving or proceeding
Swiftness
Rate of motion or progress
Full
MAXIMUM
Optimum rate of motion
It’s all been SO fast
We've made SO much progress
In SO VERY little time
This is our optimal rate of motion
6 months
181 days
4344 hours
15638400 seconds
Our season of love thus far
Countless kisses
Hundreds of pricele$$ moments
ENDLESS “I love you”s
And it only goes on from here
I can’t wait to see it A L L
to breathe in every moment
to feel every luscious touch
to taste every sweet kiss
to hear every way you say my name, like no one else does
SO stick around
Let us watch this relationship
Blossom, progress, grow,
Speed
Together, my love
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
A large red elephant jumped on the trampoline.
Somewhere in the distance a blue eyed babe cried.
Rednecks clad in Paul Bunyan shirts inhaled the fumes of their barbecues.
Moving gracefully, a trapeze dancer tip-toed across the river.
My wife slumbered on our couch,
And wind blew a kite out of my hands.
I fed a goat nectar from my hands.
A crowd encircled the trampoline.
My family purchased a new couch,
And later that day we helplessly cried.
Our wailing could not be heard across the river,
Where rednecks continued to inhale the fumes of their barbecues.
Neighbors massed to celebrate barbecues.
I looked down at my blood stained hands,
Then joined the beautiful trapeze dancer across the river.
My red elephant broke the trampoline
And we were surrounded by infinite crying.
Nobody sat on the new couch.
Many problems arrived with the new couch;
There weren’t any more barbecues,
And my teeth crunched on granola as we cried.
Silky fabric embraced my hands.
Ingrid, my wife, dies on the trampoline.
She was buried across the river.
Some guy drank all the water from the river,
And started living on our couch.
Who would have thought I met lily on the trampoline,
And who would have thought I took up barbecues.
Now I felt warmth on the back of my hand
And I no longer cried.
Only the winter wind cried,
Howling over Ingrid’s grave across the river.
I slapped an elephant carcass with my hand,
Proceeding to cook it with salt and pepper on the couch.
I bored my wife with barbecues
So she went to jump on they trampoline.
Lily died on the trampoline; I always cried.
No longer did I host barbecues, the wind continued to howl across the river.
I gutted the couch, and killed myself with the back of my hand.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 7:43 AM UTC
Please RSVP
to the event which is my life
and don't forget to follow me
might you please like?!
<pause>
It's been days
& virtually
no likes.
But that's how we judge our self-worth
and give meaning to proceeding in life.
SLAPPED in the face
by an opening door.
My past flashes forward
as I hit the floor.
Liked by many
Disliked by more
I used to relish in the love of my haters
like a *****
Always high
from the love of my admirers
I did not care to be judged
in the social court room
of people for higher.
A hand pulls me towards
the future
which is now
my present
in the past
Pulled forward
to the door
which took me back.
I liked that girl.
She was an ultimate me.
She did not care
to RSVP.
Yanked forth once more
from the protruding arm out the door.
Hesitant I
shoes nervously glued to space
in this time.
Please RSVP?
to the event
which is me?!
I'm guest of honor
*****
I took my shoes off
and walked in freely.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
"See they come, post haste from Thanet"
See they come, post haste from Thanet,
Lovely couple, side by side;
They've left behind them Richard Kennet
With the Parents of the Bride!
Canterbury they have passed through;
Next succeeded Stamford-bridge;
Chilham village they came fast through;
Now they've mounted yonder ridge.
Down the hill they're swift proceeding,
Now they skirt the Park around;
Lo! The Cattle sweetly feeding
Scamper, startled at the sound!
Run, my Brothers, to the Pier gate!
Throw it open, very wide!
Let it not be said that we're late
In welcoming my Uncle's Bride!
To the house the chaise advances;
Now it stops—They're here, they're here!
How d'ye do, my Uncle Francis?
How does do your Lady dear?
3.7k
***** you for calling our customer disservice hotline.
Calls will be ordered in any manner we please.
By proceeding you waive all rights to human kindness.
We apologize for any convenience,
and thank you for your impatience.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
Sensing a presence in my bed
I plead that this is all in my head
My gut wrenches. Heart
sinks
once my eyes fix upon you I dare not blink
Cold, numbness proceeding
I could never prepare for this feeling
You cannot meet my eyes
now they aren’t closed in sleep.
Mirrors to a soul you violated
You ******* creep
Nov 18, 2022
Nov 18, 2022 at 7:31 AM UTC
There is a period of time
Immediately proceeding a conversation you had
Where you shared, what you are sure in retrospect,
Was too much
And when they go its nearly silent
Aside from the car engine
Your ears are on fire
On one hand you’re glad you said it
On the other hand
You wish to rewind
And unsay the things you did.
Reverse and greedily fill your arms with all the
Pieces of yourself you’d given away freely.
They’re yours and they don’t own them.
But like a dusty collection of spoons,
From all fifty states,
You know that you have no use
Harboring those thoughts.
Maybe they will somehow affect that person
And help them when they’re feeling down
But you doubt it.
They won’t fully understand,
Because you’re a bad story teller
Who can’t describe the feeling of the sun
On the tops of your legs and interpolated
Between your toes.
And you're selfish and don’t care
You feel incomplete now and hope
That maybe, just maybe
They weren’t even listening to you ramble
Or couldn’t understand you
Or cast the little wads of memories away
Like pencil shavings
Which are fun for a little under an hour.
And you’ve almost convinced yourself
Until you see them, and they see you
And open their mouth to say something-
And like some horror movie
The secrets come swarming.
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
To be poured like a drink.
The bubbles fizz.
Gathered around, enriched in desire.
To quench the pursuit of pleasure.
Snapping the top proceeding to pour.
Cold to taste.
This was the comfort I felt surrounded
in her arms.
A glass seen half full continuing to pour.
Filling the space around.
Drowning just beneath the rim of glass.
An extension of myself caught in great advantage.
The settlement before the first sip.
Compensating the thrill of being swallowed whole.
In terms of affection.
It was a hug I'd never forget.
A thought that leads into physical manifestation.
The bliss of the moment,
The moment her lips pop at the taste.
Bubbles fizz crackling in the midst of excitement.
Tickling her nose.
The memory of how things were.
Drunk until nothing is left
The reality of how things really are
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 3:22 PM UTC
The casket was coming up, swaying and wobbling
Like a novice skater’s layover spin,
The workings proceeding apace,
The stillness of the August heat
Punctuated by disinterested growl of the backhoe,
The occasional out-of-place jocularity by the excavators
The creaky jingle of the chains holding the muddied box
As it proceeded skyward in its clumsy poor-man’s Resurrection.
The affair was being observed by an elderly couple,
Old enough to be of no particular age.
Their car had Carolina plates,
But their inflections, their casually-tossed idioms
They noted that ruefully The grass needs mowed)
Marked them as natives.
They’d returned (Last time, most likely,
The wife uttered mournfully)
To take their son with them; he’d drowned when was five? six?
(The years will do that to a body, apparently)
In Kinzua Creek some half-century ago,
Back when little boys weren’t under a mandate
To be safe from themselves, as it were.
He was our boy! We’ve never forgotten him!
The old man said, the words snapping off
In a manner that spoke of something else altogether,
How the whistle at the Montmorenci
Went off at three and eleven for second shift,
And your *** had better be there,
As those were good jobs that didn’t wait for bereavement leave,
Because there was always someone
Just itching to take your spot on the line,
And anyway life went on,
At least in the sense that television screens went all to snow
And tires went flat and fuses blew
And eventually a dead child
Is not always in the forefront of your thoughts,
Only tiptoeing in when the Press ran a picture
Of the Montmorenci Area Class of whenever,
Or there was an item about some other family
Who opened their front door
To a grim sheriff’s deputy with his hat in his hand.
Eventually, after some time
And in defiance of both the odds and gravity,
The casket was settled into the back
Of the undertaker’s huge old black Caddy,
And the couple cane-toddled back to their car,
Following out the through the old spider-like gates
And onto the main road.
The brief procession fading from sight,
Until there was nothing left to see
Save the hillsides covered in old growth pine.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
Our unappreciated saviors of the world reside among the clouds.
A fitting tribute to my arrival, the clouds fell to the floor.
They guided my way and kept my toes warm.
I hear the darkness festering at my heels, trying to catch my eye.
The sounds were subtle but relentless as they continued to expand.
Larger and larger they grew, proceeding to overwhelm all corners of my mind.
Stripped away from my shaking hands, I no longer hold command.
I urge my brain to ignore them but they distract me evermore.
Like the beautiful whispering of the leaves as they left their home.
Never to return, they remind me of a place where I loved to roam.
I long for a sense of where I belong.
Aimlessly wandering is exhausting beyond description.
Burning to the ground, my lover was dead amongst the dust.
My world stopped spinning.
Close your eyes and count to ten. Goodbye my little friend.
One… Three… Seven… Eight… Ten…
For as long as I will live, I will be haunted by my regrets and mistakes.
The day that I left the kingdom of peace, the glass shattered.
The clouds returned to the sky, and the world that was shared was between only my sister and I.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 5:26 AM UTC
"Soldiers Heart"
Two brothers on their way
one wore blue
and
one wore gray
one came home
one stayed behind
one mother mourns
on a November's day.
212,938
bled and died
on
American soil.
"Irritable Heart"
14 years in the Philippines
far too many days
4200 died
so many miles away.
"Shell Shock"
Johnny got his gun
alive in the tomb
of his mind
no eyes
no ears
no arms
no legs
a beating heart
an active mind
alive
with memories and sensations
Paths of Glory
leads
the way
and 53,402 stay
while one came home.
"Battle Fatigue"
291,557
perished.
Nagasaki got its bomb
six million died
before our fathers and grandfathers
liberated them.
To the 38th Parallel
we did go
where old soldiers
never die
they just fade away
with
time.
33,746 died.
"Stress Response Syndrome"
Apocalypse Now
Jacob had his ladder
in
the jungles of Vietnam
Full Metal Jacket
Born in the USA
homeless veterans
now aged still pay today
while 47,424
lay in their graves.
"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder"
My daughter
my son-in-law
bring it all
back home to me
Navy Medics
seven years
they traveled with the Marines
picking up the pieces
as they went their way
many too many trips
for all those young
troops
now we are
seeing
their heroism
proceeding
despite being afraid
a price
dearly
we all pay.
5,282 and still counting.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
Its about one in the morning
I know I have to get up at 7
I wish I was knocked out snoring
I told myself I’d go to the gym at 11
I guess I can never keep a promise to myself
There are so many things I should do
But I just put **** off and keep it on a mental shelf
Why can’t I ever follow through
I told myself I’d tell you I liked you weeks ago
But then I figured that you wouldn’t care
You’re always with your friends for all I know
If I told you I bet you’d just stare
I told myself I’d get in shape this year
But surprise I actually gained weight
Being fat again is the worst thing I fear
This week I’ve tracked all the calories I ate
I told myself I’d try to stay in a relationship
But two weeks in I freaked and ended it
I got too annoyed kissing your lips
I can’t pretend to be interested in this ****
I told myself if other people are happy dating
Then I could probably be happy too
But I’m not comfortable with anything more than a fling
Monogamy just isn’t something I can do
I told myself I’d get my **** together this time
Yet I’m snorting addies at a Philly party
Then proceeding to cry about how I’m
Such
A
Piece
Of
****
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
She's been trying for days
backspace, erase; can't find any ways
Its the kisses he gave before their lips met
has her caught in a daze, thoughts stuck in a net
But who can expect
the other not to dissect the moments during, the minutes after,
the hours proceeding a kiss?
From prologue to epilogue is to reminisce of bliss.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
*Their eyes light up,
As they glanced into the mirror,
In their distinguished and fashionable costumes,
Awaiting to attend the first annual magical competition,
And their face glowed,
Upon departing their private rooms.
On a glamorous Halloween night,
When three endearing teenage girls,
Played Jasmine, Cinderella, and Belle,
They dressed in extravagant fairy tale gowns,
As they held on a prestigious lobby rail,
And their heart stood still, as they walked down the stairs, in a fine hotel.
When guest sighed and applaud,
Into a standing ovation,
While the princess' streamed upon the platform,
In their lovely long dresses,
Posing lavishly, in distinctive and vibrant colors,
And in amazement, they came to a halt, in an exquisite form.
When three young male ushers,
Gently, reached out their hand,
Slowly proceeding with their Disney queens,
Guiding them to the dance floor,
And soon their wishes,
Became quite a reality, like a dream.
But before the clock struck to 12:00,
The girls quickly ran towards the door,
When one of Cinderella's shoes, slipped off her foot,
And was unable to stop,
Since a curfew was set at home,
And there, it sadly stood.*
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 8:35 AM UTC
[Dedicated to G. M. Marston]
Pale as the night that pales
In the dawn's pearl-pure pavillion,
I wait for thee, with my dove's breast
Shuddering, a god its bitter guest-
Have I not gilded my nails
And painted my lips with vermillion ?
Am I not wholly stript
Of the deeds and thoughts that obscure thee?
I wait for thee, my soul distraught
With aching for some nameless naught
In its most arcane crypt-
Am I not fit to endure thee?
Girded about the paps
With a golden girdle of glory,
Dost thou wait me, thy slave who am,
As a wolf lurks for a strayed white lamb?
The chain of the stars snaps,
And the deep of night is hoary!
Thou whose mouth is a flame
With its seven-edged sword proceeding,
Come ! I am writhing with despair
Like a snake taken in a snare,
Moaning thy mystical name
Till my tongue is torn and bleeding!
Have I not gilded my nails
And painted my lips with vermillion?
Yea ! thou art I; the deed awakes,
Thy lightening strikes; thy thunder breaks
Wild as the bride that wails
In the bridegroom's plumed pavillion!
2.5k
As I, in the forest, stood
Pondering nature's wonder
I peered up at the canopy, so lush and green
Of which, I dallied under...
Hopping through the foliage
That stretched across the ground
A chipmunk hurried to a log
And alit upon it with a bound...
Underneath the stratosphere
High atop a tree
A large black crow, I did hear
Calling down to me...
Proceeding to the beach, so warm
My feet, prints in the sand, did form
As I dug in with my toes,
I felt the sun, so warm
My mood was of repose...
Seagulls, high above, did play
Hunting, calling, all the day
Upon the evening tide
Bubbles of white foam did ride...
The summer felt just like a friend
Although, I knew, it, soon, would end
My visit to this paradise
Concluded in a way, so nice...
I knew I would return, again
To the shores of Lake Michigan.
Nov 7, 2010
Nov 7, 2010 at 5:37 PM UTC
There's
a
rhythm inside me that I want craft fire to
But I never can keep up with the ticking clock
There's
a
wall that obstructs my view I want to see higher yet
What if I climb until I find out I don't like what's at the top?
One day I'll step out of line and ignore the warden who drags me back
I'll climb the tree next to the wall and dance along the top
But for now each day pulls me in a struggle unyielding
It would be a dance if my mind could process all that keeps proceeding
If I could pause it for a beat perhaps I could find my feet
But the game gets faster while I just get more confused.
I suppose I'll get used to it. Will it always be this way?
and does it feel the same somehow to everybody else?
I want to dance perfectly
impeccably,
beautifully
in a way that's new and full of life and my own very soul
but head down I keep dozing to miss out on the pain and I shut my eyes
Squint over the wall's holes.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC