"proclivity" poems
Substitutions are short term solutions
To problems that we cannot resolve
Even though I am human, I need to evolve
My hand is not my companion
It doesn't ask me how happy I am
The twitch happens and its time to go again
Is this how sobriety is supposed to play out?
Kicking ***** to the curb, only to receive
In return an obsession, over my depression
To try and write down life's lessons?
Yet with all these journals half empty
What exactly am I saving for me?
Disappointment, because I missed the
Appointment to my own creativity?
I do have a proclivity to playing out
My own self-fulfilling prophecies
Oh well, that's just me
Jul 10, 2022
Jul 10, 2022 at 1:23 PM UTC
Swinging free outside the law of gravity,
Her heart and mind and soul are unified.
Heaven bound drawn by the pull of levity.
Despite intensity of drama she is free,
Her anguish hurt and fear left far behind.
Swinging free outside the law of gravity.
A time there was when all seemed lost, no light to see.
Despair prevailed personal Hell had left her blind.
Still Heaven bound drawn by the pull of levity.
Her perfect heart denying dark activity,
Gave a bright spark allowing her-her soul to find.
Swinging free outside the law of gravity.
Then came releasing negative proclivity,
Working hard in letting go what would not shine.
Heaven bound drawn by the pull of levity.
Her lightness gifting new nativity,
A goddess angel now she is divine.
Swinging free outside the law of gravity,
Heaven bound drawn by the pull of levity.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
oh absolute value
how you make life simple.
you turn minus to plus
without making a ripple.
like jesus you absolve
the sins of negativity.
with just two little lines
you help with lifes positive proclivity.
oh absolute value
you dont make me blue.
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
treacherously torrid and torrential torrents of totally tangential tumultuous tortuous ; tyrannically torturous adjunct viably salient seethe.
procrastinating pandemic plenipotentiary prosthesis ; prosaically pragmatic parenthetical predication predilection premise prognostication
panoramic tableau preternatural propensity proclivity prestidigitation gesticulation :
gyration guidon ; ghastly gruesome grotesque hideously horrible horrendous heinous
grotty gnarly
diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abrupt
awful
amalgamated anathema analysis agnate aggregate aberrance
somatalogy virtuoso cognate obduracy
worse
rudiment ebullience , confluence effluent effusion affluent , prolific profusity opulence , cogent fecund secular secund , recondite redolence abstrusely obstreperous mesomerism resonance resilience
protractive perpetude futurity
blither blandishing blabber burnishing boresome blahs
lithe blithe jabber prattle chatter tithe
morose morsel moribundness
stolid stoic
stalwart bastion bulwark
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
Reading the other day,
an article about some,
Renowned fellow's notion,
On the study of "Human,
Productive Locomotion".
A reputed Authorty,
of "Time Management",
His main proclivity being,
The belief in his increasing,
Other peoples productivity.
Modulating their all too,
common Human tendency,
For naturally wasting time,
and non productive energy.
Him asserting himself to be,
a self styled know it all,
Bonafied Expert in Efficiency.
Now I can see,
How it might be,
That this type of study,
Offers some relevancy,
For the Barons of Industry,
What with them regulating,
The flow, While streamlining,
and furthering the advance,
of all things, relating to commerce.
A purely Scientific belief,
For the primary benefit,
Of the Time Clocks sake,
And all those Bosse's
Emotional financial betterment.
But what on earth,
did that have to do,
with an old retired,
fool like me?
What matter that,
I merely sit and think,
for hours at a time.
Read the paper,
or a book,
Computer chat,
or cook?
Putter in my garden,
Or gratefully just stare,
at big billowing clouds,
or rainbows in the air.
Or perhaps I choose,
to hug my wife,
Or chase my Grand
Kids up a tree,
Maybe grab a nap,
Or even take a ***
Pet my dog,
Or have a Beer.
Watch the Tube,
a little bit,
Or congregate to meditate,
with a convivial group of friends.
Maybe take a walk,
Down by the river.
Get out my old,
Bow and Quiver.
Wash my car,
Cut some grass,
Go to my writing class.
Slip on down,
to the " Red Dog Saloon"
Where I'll promenade,
A little Texas Two Step.
Come home in time,
To unwind and,
watch some David Letterman.
What's efficient,
and what is not?
Clearly, that interpretation,
Is completely up to me.
No Efficiency Expert needed.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
My family doctor suggested bed rest.
If that was a statement rather than a suggestion,
I wouldn't know, because the redundancy of those
two words was enough to keep me idle,
awake, agitated for days.
It was around the time he carefully
scribbled his script onto the blue pad
that I began to chuckle. This prefixed
prescript was only a temporary solution
that was barely legible. Whether or not
a scribe in this profession is meant to
be as erratic as nomadic cavern canvas,
it speaks volumes that the DSM IV considers
substantial. Until a once thought preconceived
notion becomes precedent in the ongoing
sought after expansion of knowledge.
A continuation of disorder and disease,
the facts and fallacies,
all become testing.
The standard practice is only as strong
as its weakest hypothesis.
More so when it becomes general practice.
I would like to believe
this to be an emergency,
but the white-coat before me
felt the need to sidetrack,
and thought it appropriate to mention
youth in Asia.
The deadpan humor
was disconcerting.
But not as unnerving
as the redundancies that
were given to me as a solution
for my sporadic sleep.
Some insurance!
Reassure me, doctor!
So, he did,
through his proclivity
for pharmaceuticals.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
I'm not good at closing doors quietly.
So much so that my father made a sign to remind me.
It says:
Shh!
Quiet Please!
in blue magic marker.
It's not that he's trying to stifle me, he's just sleeping.
My mother told me that she had to realign the door frames after I moved out, as they had grown used to my proclivity for slamming.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:18 PM UTC
Lexical littorals illiterate foal
Talus and cirque shore and shoal
Iconoclast anarchy vortex knoll
****** matrix vertex peak
Semantic regalia flux and seek
Torrid allusions own and keep
Dichotomy paradox surge and swell
Primordial integumence purge and fell
Contiguity confluence dirge and knell
Reliquiae requiem show and tell
Accession assertion deliberative need
Transcendent ascension expiate seed
Subordinate ancillary exigency deed
Subliminal subjunctive sensorium seethe
Uxorious usury detinue blithe
Contiguous currency decimate tithe
Tractive proximity critical lithe
Delusory phantasm futurity kithe
Alacritous tactile acuity interstice
Accidence ambience resonance quipy pith
Scenario synopsis resilience gist
Endergonic protensive progressiveness rift
Prestissimo preterite retroactive gift
Poignant puissance piquant myth
Fable fantasticate legend list
Preternatural gesticulate proclivity pith
Propensity assimilate diabolical mist
********** fornicate zooidal mist
Parenthetical erudite erumpence fist
Quiescent gossamer lecherous wrist
Militant mercenary actuator aorist
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
Try your best to escape and free
Your mind is not your identity
Your genetics, your family tree
Your looking glass eyes can see
Through the window an fatefully
Change your perception of reality
And redefine who you are to be
My new persona is in a coma down in Barcelona
Now I'm Jonah in love with Mona from Arizona
Drinking corona with Fiona in the streets of Verona
Creativity is a proclivity that unshackles our identity free
Journey with me far from the vast sea of mental captivity
Exclusivity of proactivity creates a glorious life of festivity
Consent to your dreams to the absolute umpteenth degree
Augment your schemes and forget about the no guarantee
Reinvent thee extremes, and you will never be a life absentee
Remember as you read that we are all connected eternally
On this marble together spinning we are all just guests
Wandering around trying to solve our personal quests
Humans being we happened to be, but only temporarily
May as well attempt and squeeze life to death and manifest
All your aspirations and ambitions should be put to the test
All so blessed with a mind, and a beating heart in our chest
So why not invest the rest of our time to aspire to be the best
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
Is there anything as special
As a sister's love?
They are right there with you
When push comes to shove!
They fight for you
Have light for you
To show you that they care
They grow with you
And sow with you
The mem'rys you both share
Sometimes they may not agree
Sometimes even fight
But that's because they want the best
And they know what's right!
It's my sister's birthday
And I want her to see
She is near and she is dear
In my memory
So here is a story
I remember from her past
It tells of her character
She's a fighter to the last!
~~<♡>~~
When my sister was still going to the University of Arizona here in Tucson, she had a motorcycle. Which had a proclivity for breaking down. Well, it was getting on toward summer. And the bike broke down many miles from where her mechanic was located. She had no money to get it towed. So my hundred and twenty pound sister pushed that heavy motorcycle all the way to the dealership! The mechanic was agog!
He couldn't believe she had lugged that motorcycle all that way! He told her, "Honey, you have some *****
This is the way my sister is. Beautiful, brilliant, and brave!
I am very proud of her, and I'm honored to be her sister!
♡ Catherine
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC
darling, loving me is falling apart with octobers and kissing your poems goodbye. it is watching autumns unfold while slipping into the tracks of a freight train. i will kiss your skin, all chapped lips and sweetened cigarettes, my hands on your neck, as if feeling the walls of an athenian ruin. i will be every distinctive silhouette in a film, every line in a song, every secret spilling gracelessly off your lips before you catch yourself. i will set you on fire and you will burn; all wide-eyed and irises made of the storm, beneath my feather light touches.
i have a proclivity for breaking hearts and you will find yourself neck-deep in whirl of heartbreaks and headlights — all moonstruck and confused. i will break you — destroy you, bit by bit, in the most elaborate, exquisite way, that you will know one thing, darling —
chaos has a tendency to look beautiful.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 10:52 AM UTC
Freedom through proclivity. Self-deserved justice through self-acquired progess.
A self-spiraling abundance of connections to, via and between vital elation, development and integration.
A conquest throughout, a victory that which for itself exists to be.
Social - Integral - Communal - Public – Mutual:
As the original, so too the other,
As the other, so too the original.
Within its self-proclaimed evidence;
The brilliance thereof
And within brilliance,
As brilliance,
Through brilliance,
For brilliance,
Occurs just brilliance.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
Demarcation embossed on her skin, puncture point left with a pin
Fishnet stockings for the masses, Wiccan enjoyed in classes.
Personality goes from void to resigned, alternate progression good and primed.
Keen eyed father takes it all to heart, seeing his daughter’s wrist opened with a part.
Packs up and moves them all down to San Tropez
Hoping freedom in peace would take it all away.
Clean cut, concise and thin, award worthy with a stellar grin
An esteemed academic decathlete, salacious in the recesses of his sleep
Pressure mounted at too harsh an angle, fell back on those that dangle
Clean and cut with a proclivity for exposure, an outlet to relinquish his composure.
Packed up and moved down to San Tropez
His father thought it could take it all away
Fed and bred on notions of sin, premature birth, no more spin.
Baggy-eyed and caught in heat, the reasons that led her to cheat.
Husband took it as the answer to a problem, the baby could no longer haunt him.
She fell back into a deadlock stare, her husband thought it was a prolonged glare.
He packed them up and moved down to San Tropez
No amount of travel could take that all away.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
You pick me up.
You lift my spirit.
You elevate my expectations.
You bring me joy.
You give me hope.
You fill my heart with song.
You encourage me
You hold my hand so tenderly.
You make me an exception.
You guide me in my weariness.
You do all of this….
When you dust me off,
Every two months or so.
When you remember,
That I exist.
When you feel,
Guilt on my omission.
When you need,
Someone to boost your ego.
I am not your empath
I cannot thrive
On your limited proclivity
Your temporary fawning
It bothers me
You make me feel so wrong
While I am expected to make you feel so right
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
I yearned for peace,
To silence the chaos of my mind.
Craved a quiet solace
Sought to close my heart
Until Fate wove
Our bonded twine.
Two wayward souls
On separate paths—
“Coincidentally” align.
This perfect pairing,
Our missing piece
A testament to
Divine Design.
We navigate this expanse
Unknown
For which only the boldest
Are inclined,
Of life’s tumultuous spectrum—
Erratic fluctuations, vacillating
From arduous to Sublime.
It takes an acute endurance,
Coupled with two spirits
In their prime
To overcome insurmountable
Obstacles
Which so often bend
The Strongest
Of
Stalwart
Spines.
And yet our love
Transcends all trials
And to you Alone,
I resign…
To the man who mends
My heart
I am yours, and you
Are Mine.
I vow to cherish you
Until my last breath,
Until the fabric of
Time
Unwinds.
To my Saving Grace,
My Singular Proclivity—
My
Everlasting
Valentine.
Feb 17, 2022
Feb 17, 2022 at 3:44 AM UTC
Mm, yes.
I find that the sultry of subtlety
does not hide well among the obvious!
We catch each others eye
across crowded parlors
to steal off in the wings
for sodden romantic whispers.
Her muted presence is a cloud born
particle of dust –
gathering the purest droplets,
to fall, and
falling waters accreting
into mighty rivers churning earth.
Shamefully, perhaps by nature of a poetique,
my proclivity is to paint nuance up
like a dime-store ****
parade her around in metaphors
under my propped writing arm,
my free hand palming a chained timepiece...
Oh how these nuances matter
as I slip a moment back into the pocket of time.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
Because beauty lies in minerals and chalk,
and outlandish tinctures remedy physical faults
with pastes and goo,
the daily ritual of painting flesh,
disguising ourselves from a social stigma,
compels and consumes us
Obsession over minute details,
driven by the incessant narcissism
of a portentous society,
coerces us into proclivity,
so that each day we worship a virtual image,
mere reflected light
Because of all the reticulated bones and fat and blood,
sustaining life-functions and supporting the capability intelligence
which we rarely take steps to refine,
and of the independent, incognizant cells,
working ensemble circuitously,
the web which imprisons it all is most beautiful.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
There’s something about your pale skin
blanketed with thin hairs that makes
me care to become closer, to massage
your ache, to make you quake with
relief; despite your disbelief
about my interest in you, I really do wish to kiss
your manner and bathe in the
cool vibes you emit.
I want to hit my brain for
silencing my heart, for halting
its beats when my eyes meet
your sweet and enticing
form; It’s hard for me to say
if I’ll feel the same as yesterday
in the future, for fickleness
has been in my nature,
though it is an unattractive trait—
indecision and impulsivity;
Contemplation is a proclivity,
a natural occurring activity that
sends too many signals to my mind
and I waste all of my precious time
deciphering true feelings from
conditioned expectations
However, I cannot deny the tingly
sensation my body rides when I look
into your mind
And I’m quite curious to find
out everything about you while
keeping my own mystery unsolved
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
Cryptic quotation offer shattered self-esteem
No solace for the personality flaws
Not quite the proclivity for annihilation
Yet, every stab at the paper breaks new teeth
Curious is the looker who looks through filtered eyes
Even still, there is no need to protest
An awkward moment of exaggeration
Or a sardonic belittling of subterfuge
Coordinated to change the sided nature of self
Crowned by the masses so intimately
But without a shred of deeper connection
And the line grows longer but no one knows why
Blind are bridge jumpers who love high numbers
Just like you never hear of lone sheep
Is everything so tragic…
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
We put the family dog down.
But what did he know.
We kept calling him a good boy,
and with what strength he had left,
his body would twitch
and fall limp.
October is a terrible month.
Leaves leave.
Breathe steam.
Dogs die.
Ghostly goodbye.
We kept calling you a good boy,
in between feeding you treats.
October is a terrible month.
It's a month full of tricks.
None of us expected you to marry.
Your proclivity towards promiscuity
was well documented.
In any case,
we knew that the reception,
your reception,
would be centered around an open bar.
This would become the precursor
to your marriage.
We knew you were an animal.
A snake.
A fox.
A dog.
A rat.
The black sheep.
But none of us expected
your bite to be worse than your bark.
Behind black eyes,
your wife tried
not to cry.
Explaining to us
the itch you couldn't scratch.
But none of that mattered.
We all knew the difference
between an accident
and an act of aggression.
******* on the couch is one thing,
but you never put your paws on a woman.
We put the family dog down.
But what did he know.
We kept calling him a good boy,
and with what strength he had left,
his body would twitch
and fall limp.
This was one dog
we couldn't
throw a bone to.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 2:18 AM UTC
It takes three days to pick up a habit.
How sound this is, I'm not sure,
because some habits seem as inconsequential
as a statement regarding time and vice.
It makes one wonder how long it takes
to believe a statement to be true.
Possibly as long as
a *** of coffee to be brewed.
Surely the amount of time will
vary by the weight of the statement.
But even a measurement is prone to
be thrown off by unforeseen additions.
Eight cups of water, and four scoops of grinds,
you're bound to have a little too much or
a little less than expected.
It becomes harder to tell
when dealing with a slow drip.
Brewing coffee may be completely divisible
when dealing with a recipe, but
hardly unequivocal when
the time comes to measure up.
This follows suit with patrons
and their proclivity.
Only in fiction is the coffee shop patron enigmatic.
Only in fiction can the patron enjoy a cigarette indoors.
Men and women wake and
head to their cubicles,
coffee in hand,
five days a week.
By the third day
a habit has formed,
and maybe that is why
acceptance is had midweek
and why the first day of the
nine-to-five seems so everlasting,
if not inscrutable.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
****** spittle drips from your lips
where once I tasted the proclivity
for hand rolled cigarettes and whiskey;
my saviour incarnate in a stranger’s fist.
I wear your words like welts upon my back,
five lashes, unseen by the eye yet palpable.
Lesions I pick, agape and weeping
like the feeble mouths of infants screaming.
This was never mine to mourn.
I’m licking your wounds now, your finger in my own;
and back to you again I’m bourne.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 1:45 AM UTC
Just a little ditty, not too witty,
when my youngest is now of age,
in the United States,
but has been for two years in Canada,
it doesn't matta,
so Happy Birthday son
as of midnight you are twenty one,
in human years
not dog years
you speak of dreams
and you stream
ideas of a better world,
while I do NanoWriMo
you talk of Nano Technology
where you will go to University
in Ontario,
after you go to Australia,
I hope we don't fail ya'
by casting love clouds of doubt,
or just stand by and shout,
like some cheerleader,
but really listen and hear ya'
for you have leader ship skills
and intutive creativity with a proclivity
that will help you sail for years
in the world where small is becoming huge
if you can just find the wind
if you can just find the wind
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
once I beat a television to death
it was a very bad television, always showing me bad things
almost as if it had some proclivity for badness
but how can an inanimate thing have an inclination
surely what it showed to me was of my persuasion
So soon after I'd thrown it out
I sat around fulminating in something of a pout
at first I missed the sensation, the noise and the thrill
and observed I'd become quite inured to the ****
and little by little as such thoughts soon languished
it occurred to me also such thoughts would be vanquished
So after a spell, I obtained another set
and soon I was reminded, it wasn't finished with me yet
oh the gore, the blood, oh the sinister grime
oh you and me what a ghastly good time
and then and there I again realized
the images I'm viewing are choices of mine
How quickly we forget
memories of convenience
blaming the other guy
scapegoating reason
nobody forces you to watch the modern megalith
and once again I beat another television to death
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 10:38 PM UTC
Long reflected streams
Of light,
Wheeled light beams,
Create the gusts
Of wind,
The nose thrusts,
Above four legs striding
On a walk,
Thoughts drifting, riding,
On hopeful crests of waves
Of an ocean,
That experience brings, saves,
The scars that mar the heart
On the surface,
Marks the day's began, a start,
Hours sit and stand at a desk
Of employ,
Creativity not addressed,
By name, there is trial
In the error,
In this day success is viral,
The day end comes fast with a stat
Of failure,
Walking home is time alone, and that
Leads to free writing, to break the hold
Of the cold,
Bureaucratic wasteland, truth be told,
Yet the night the evening brings time
Of peace,
And quiet and of release, so sublime,
Emotions roil, sounds toil, and struggle
Of reality,
Cold sided pillow, head rest and snuggle,
Oh dreams become certain reality
Of a Hope,
Yet life is short, feasting on frailty,
Human identity, a man, negativity
On a winged
Sleepy prayer, not shared, in proclivity,
Soft clouds of sleep fall firm, leave a pall
On dream-sleep,
Recharging for another day is all,
That is found waiting viewing the whole
Of foolishness,
Each day too full takes its toll,
Like a bridge with infrastructure tolls
Of empty,
Pockets, of resistance, and angry trolls
That crush dreams of day and night
Of promise,
Found rising stumbling by mornings light.
A new day has begun to get it right
Of sand,
And the hourglass, which empties fast, a sleight,
Of hands
That write,
Make magic to start a stopped heart which was waiting for, to die.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 10:14 PM UTC