"questionably" poems
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation . Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
seven pages
of carefully picked words
arranged and placed
where they'll get the biggest bang for your buck
because
you never leave the house
without a goal
no, I wasn't astounded to
find that when you cut away the hair
that used to cover your ears
you were even more deaf, than before
your great you know
that charm, it shows
a smile and slicked
back hair style
and you make the rounds
safe and sound
behind the sunshine image
that you've questionably earned
but I made sure
to go light on the accessories tonight
and there is nothing to stop
the clairvoyance that fights its way to my mind
hidden behind my eyes
brown and smiling
long exiling thoughts of you
being like this
but you didnt hear a word i said
no point in discussing your retention
I'll ask although
I already know
have you ever not been
the center of attention
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
Amid the Romans the seven arrive,
To work something out to stop the impending war,
To everyone it seemed like things were going fine,
Until Leo was possessed and attacks the Roman camp,
Aboard the ship they fly away,
But they have no idea what will happen to them,
Throughout their journey they find many clues,
Except they don’t always know what to do,
Till Annabeth discovers that she needs to leave the group,
Against her will Annabeth heads out on her solo quest,
Throughout her journey she faces many hardships,
Over Tartarus is where she ends up,
After Annabeth is finally found by the rest of the seven,
Inside Arachne’s web-filled cave,
Upon the long lost Athena Parthenos,
Above Annabeth is the Argo II,
Against their luck the ground is questionably stable,
Toward Tartarus Percy and Annabeth fall,
Down they fall for what seems like days,
Into the place where the monsters lay.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 7:51 PM UTC
I want to make a masterpiece.
My life has to be a masterpiece.
Some people in my life tell me that I am the masterpiece so it isn't necessary for me to make one.
I think I am lucky to know human beings so generous with such compliments that are so hard for me to believe.
I don't see me the way they see me, and I think they are delightfully delusional, and I am still focused on one day creating some sort of masterpiece whether it be writing, painting, or something else entirely so that I have an actual tangible object to show people when they ask who I am or what I do instead of just hoping they see that I am a questionably good person trying to do definitely (mostly) good things and I am actually totally lost, kicking and screaming in a crowded sea full of others who do the same - they're just a little quieter than I could ever hope to be.
I am flailing with a smile on my face desperately trying to save people who might not want to be saved and the exhaustion set in long ago but I have no choice but to try and gather enough energy to create my good enough masterpiece.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
It came like a sudden darkness, storming up and snuffing out the already fading light of dawn,
When I found myself floating, above the ground suspended on the backs of blue clouds that kissed the purple sky like a clinging lover
Chasing the movement of birds before my eyes I turned to stare down at the blackness beneath my toxic cloud of color, at the puke green sea covered in the orange foam of soda where what looked like the remnants of my breakfast that morning road the frothy waves.
Pink,
Pink
Pepto-Bismol stained whales attacked the early air blowing bubbles filled with what looked like Oreo cream screaming happily the music of contentment
A cry a loud mewling filled the acid induced happiness of the moment, yowling agonizingly, as if possessed by the spirit of pain itself.
Thumping, Screeching clash and the ***** of nails had me blinking away from my floating tea party within the sky and looking rather questionably to the hunky dream boat pouring me a fresh glass of tea,
His smile plastered by the very gods themselves didn't waver, and in my dreamlike stupor I thought nothing of it
But the terrified yowling, hissing, strange purr-mewl didn't stop.
The sky no longer a pleasant purple faded to a nasty shade of plum conjuring two disembodied chillingly green slated eyes
Frantic with irrational fear I panicked falling off my blue cloud to plummet towards the angry green sea below
Falling, Falling ever faster staring up at the sinister glowing ambient green eyes, whilst hearing that terrifying screeching yowl, from the Cheshire maw
Slamming awake with the tingling sensation of a ghostly belly flop, I find myself still staring up at those eerie green eyes.
This time surrounded by a flowing mane of toffee fur and speckled with tan zigzagging stripes of inky black,
Buddy, with his demanding meow of attention, insistently pawing my forehead with the command of a gentle rub,
Plucking my wings, and crippling me with a cuteness that only he can have.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 4:17 PM UTC
Once I tore a piece from the back of the Sunday paper.
The piece told a story of an old lady who was being kicked out of her knitting class because she insisted on bringing her cat each time.
I didn't necessarily like the story, but I heard my father, upon glancing at the title ("One cat that won't have knits"), proclaim questionably "who is going to read this crap!?".
I decided then that I would read it. I kept the story in the back pocket of my worn jeans.
I felt bad for that lady- maybe she didn't have any friends at her knitting class?
But mostly, I felt bad because I knew that no one was going to read her story.
I probably won't have a story of my own in the paper any day, and If I did, I wouldn't want it to be about bringing my cat to knitting classes. But even if that is what it was about, I would want someone to read it. I'd want someone to gasp over it, or laugh, or rip it out and keep it in their faded blue jeans. I won't have an article, but I will have a story. I just don't want to have a story that a middle aged man, sitting in his dressing gown and slippers, drinking hot coffee would scoff over, and ask "who is going to read this!?".
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 7:44 AM UTC
chronic insomnia keeps the shakes coming steady
blunts steady the coming shakes
this world can't handle the whole
portion myself into fractions
i need you because you give me someone to be
your hands around my neck give me room to breathe
this comfortable pain
this questionably sane
these schizophrenic musings
my amusing bipolar bruisings
these anxiety retches
my borderline sketches
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
This crazy conundrum has been conspicuously contrived quite cordially. Of course, one could concede this cordially contrived conundrum could carelessly conflate the countless quandaries causing quintessential quantities to question the conspicuously questionable conspiracy. Conversely, carelessly questioning conspicuously contrived conspiracies as cordially quantitative quandaries could create considerably confusing claims countering the critically acclaimed crazy conundrum so callously clarified as to continue to count as cordial. Consequently, with careless acquiescence, I must confess that the conceptually contrived conspiracy, so inconspicuously inconsistent, conflated considerably contrary quandaries quite questionably and continues to confuse the crazy quite cordially. To conclude, the crazed conspicuous conundrum confuses the cordially questionable quantities of conceptually countless claims clearly clarified as conflated quandaries continuously contradicting a considerable count of conspiracies.
11/2/16 11:59 p
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
As I sat upon the dock’s edge, idly skimming the questionably clean water with my toes, I closed my eyes and opened my ears to eavesdrop on the birds chattering across the fen.
Were they conspicuously cawing the sought after secrets of the universe in a foreign tongue, swapping stories of the skyway, boasting of their knowledge as they choked down half-drowned worms, brooding over the offensive punch line we call truth?
Or were they casually chirping how healthy the sun is for their plumage, teasing the hen for her aerial shortcomings, sharing seeds of sesame, and politely asking the woodpecker to stop his work, if only for a moment?
In my stasis of thought, a leech writhed to the water’s surface with intention, and rudely hooked onto my big toe without even asking first.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
An old image,
Its me,
Hello,
Hello me,
From yesterdays the mind refuses to flee,
And oh just look at me,
My eyes,
Appearing cloudless and dazzled at once,
For what a gift did reflect within,
My one beloved,
Though,
They be Inert eyes,
Ever so alive, though lifeless,
For this be just an image of me,
A me unable to foresee,
Though able to stare, Questionably,
Hello me,
What happened to me?
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 7:04 AM UTC
What is reality?
Is it in the sky?
The whistling wind?
The whispering trees?
Or is it the voices that speak to me?
Ever so softly in the dead silence of the night
Dancing in the wind
Swaying to the silent music
Sweet voices sharing knowledge and helpful suggestions
Dreaming of a world where no harm is done
Wake up
With each passing second the soothing voices grow louder
Suggestions become questionably dangerous
Hinting on what they want to be done
What they want to finish
Walking backwards
Crooked head
Wide open eyes
Listening to the echoing silence waiting for the next word
Aggressive commands
Yelling and screaming
Bouncing off the cranium walls
Shrieking what they demand to be taken care of
Won't stop....
Won't stop
WONT STOP
Won'tstopwon'tstopwon'tstop
Circling and over lapping they continue
Chaotic noise fills the overwhelming silence that is reality
Too far gone
Pathetic attempts to cease the faceless demons
Run
Hit
Scratch
Scream
One way out:
Do what we say...
Think what we think...
WE are your reality now.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
So cast your words out amongst the great cosmic sea
Amidst the Blue Marble's Aliens and fateful life tree
Optimistic Electrons etched in diamonds eternally
Free for judgment, from among our Earth Fraternity
So when I finish this sentence with saying, "you complete me"
I"m mean, it kills me to see, you, and well, me, but really we
Should, we, grab some ice cream sometime, she says discreetly
To the Ice Cream man named Victor go the spoils, questionably?
So may I just say, that... to YOU it may concern
It really is what it isn't, and I do mind if I don't
From every situation is another chance to learn
So if you don't mind if you do, I still never won't
So please proceed to buy a test for pregnancy of thee mind
I've placed thoughts inside, but I can't be sure they're mine
Collected fragments of molecules crashing and sputtering about
An idea has now been planted, Let's just pray there is no drought
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to its progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to its innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of its conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of its relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of its interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of its conjunction yet the totality of its ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet its diversity exceeded its physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 2:52 AM UTC
Will you wander.......whi/le I
will wander..............shy - I'll
Save you a tree stump, but buy me a limb.
I swear I'm not bleeding, dad,
dismissed on a whim.
"four score and seven years ago" he poached
"Teach me," moaned glamorous I...
iridescent eyed ash-fall that's so fetch.
So fetch? Dumb.
Beauty before age in my mined mind
still digging, a fool's gold "jackpot"
- reeling on a questionably marked
'x' - the spot. Kicked in reality?
Said staunch defender?
Be-bop zue-dot, absolutely not.
Plop that snot - gentle tho,
yet a youth - the tru might round
come to repeat last night's too
too late sun-slide skyset.
If only I could, would I would?
My head-throb, desistant it breaks.
Salt and Honey occupy my time.
M Gordon Meier
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
Such intensive feelings
Met half way
Under one sky
Along one shore
Such pixelated grins
Met half way
Under glass screens
Along one call
For every minute spent in
Questionably unrequited waters
My lungs filled
My head went under
Until I was set in my ways
To swim to the surface
And let such expression loose
and be it such boundless expression
For all intents and purposes
I am insane with such promise
That is your presence
Rubber room bound
In a warm embrace
Of a straight jacket
Signed, yours truly
And so we meet upon mutual feeling
On a glass horizon
That we might not dare break
Lest we see how far
We might have to fall
For one and another
Together
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 4:15 AM UTC
I like this
Style you have
The hair
Perfectly sculpted to be
Falling just over your eyes
The pout
That one might call
‘Boyish and cute’
The punkish clothes
That look questionably good
On your suburban boy body
I like this
Style you have
But I do not love it
Because I cannot love someone
So different from me
So perfect compared
To me
Jun 3, 2011
Jun 3, 2011 at 5:43 PM UTC
Isn't it a lonely world?
Watching from the other side
My life is just passing me by
"You naughty girl,
Questionably feminine,
You know you are a freaking sin!"
Gouge my eyes and watch me scream
Another day
Won't wake up to my dreams
What can I say
When you wouldn't listen?
I don't have your permission
Look into the massive sky
Feeling so inferior
I cry on the interior
"You shameful guy,
Excuse of masculinity."
I'm never allowed to be me
Gouge my eyes and watch me scream
Another day
Won't wake up to my dreams
What can I say
When you wouldn't listen?
I don't have your permission
What can I say,
But dream another day?
Apr 3, 2023
Apr 3, 2023 at 11:21 AM UTC
Today, I sat in Spanish class. We watched a cheesy soap opera made by academics to help teach us the language. It was cringe-worthy, and I was often only half-listening, having watched the majority of the soap the semester before. But then the teacher paused the story, and I looked up.
Someone raised their hand, and the first thing they said was, "What does Lo Extrana mean?"
"I miss her."
There was some sort of heavy weight in that moment, one that sat on my chest and had me staring down at the questionably drawn squirrel on my paper. I miss her
Sometime lately I have gravely understood I have to slowly pull myself away from my parents. The pain they gave me, and the expectations they have of a person I never really was, is not worth the little joy they bring. They loved me as their daughter and legacy, not as Grace.
But the heavy weight was not for them, its an acceptable ache by now. The words in my head and the weight were only from the realization that without them, there was no her.
No more slobbery kisses or sneaking into my room to see if I'm ok. No more cuddles and begging for food and long walks while singing way too loud. No more defending her against my harsh father, or giving her treats when no one was looking. It only makes it worse the fact I know she misses me.
My mother tells me she sleeps in my room now, with her head on a blanket I left behind. Every time I leave she lays sad in the closet or a bed, giving me the eyes that beg me not to leave. When I come home she runs around and jumps on me and gets so excited I ignore everything for her. But I think she knows I'm miserable there, too. She seemed to want me to walk her every time I was starting to sink lower.
I feel harsh wanting my baby puppy more than my family, but when all the world turned on me she was the one who would try to lick my tears away. And it cuts me deep to think I left her behind in a home that yells at her a little much and give her the things she needs, but not the connection she wants.
Mom and I always joked that she was the mother, but I was the best friend of that beloved dog.
And now I've left her alone, and it breaks my heart. Yet there"s nothing I can really do.
Lo Extrana.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
When will Humanity shed…
his blinders of ignorance?
Salvation can’t be found…
outside of Christ’s death
and glorious resurrection.
Can our inherit arrogance,
which is questionably based
on the accumulation of data
that’s carefully culled, be
worth a future without God?
Nothing we claim, stops Him
from being the Alpha & Omega.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 2:08 PM UTC
For all that ensues, I will heed
Drinking on individual circumstance
Apprehension swims
Manipulating his fluids
Liquid intentionality
Soaked in contamination
Justified with wounds
The wetness of iniquity
He is glossed in it
Questionably bitter.
*******
After ALL this,
I'm still drowning in his adoration
I'm treading his thawed spine,
until his fleshy affections have (also) started dripping
My body, slippery with him
Readily tasting the drips
Somehow, his dampness is so candied
I'm honey-eyed with each lick
He is very, very vivid to all that is me
He managed to preserve his fragrancy
Unquestionably sweet.
Nov 27, 2023
Nov 27, 2023 at 7:10 PM UTC
Sleepless nights I end up with sighs
Don’t know what’s in my own mind
A blank expression on my face
Watching The shadows and I trace
Mind as blank as paper sheets
Like the dim lights all over me
I watch the shadows questionably
Why does my heart pound intensely
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 10:35 AM UTC
i sit and shut my eyes
even for a moment
a blink or flutter
and i think i'm somewhere else
a lapse of time, a micro dream
i'm in a different place
i can't correctly describe it
but the way i feel is clear
its quiet, it isn't calming but its not threatening
its always dark and always a room of some sort
whether it be a bedroom or a classroom or my car
everything is still, dark, there's no temperature or wind
but i'm not numb either
and a door's always open, or a window
but everything is the same, a dark charcoal color with a tinge of blackened blue
it lasts for a micro of a micro second and i only can describe it because of how many times ive seen it
but then i become frightened because of how confused i feel
like there is something not quite right about the things which i see
then my brain wakes up and the light is seeps back in with a foreign sight before me
of a book, the wheel, a screen, a wall, or someone talking
and it all comes flooding back, at least some of it
but i still cant shake what happened and the panic that was felt
that brief moment where you belong nowhere and questionably may exist
because it feels so real in the moment as if ive teleported there
it doesnt help
not one bit
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 2:45 AM UTC
A road trip in late spring
With the street lights flying by
Over my worn out eyes
Lying lazily on the leather door
Forehead against the window
Racing raindrop
Time trials
The radio buzzes a melancholy voice
Low and long
The warmth of your hand on
Mine is all I can concentrate on
I know above the whirling lights
Stands Orion and Ursa Major
Who circle each other
Waiting for an opening
And we’re just driving right through the middle of the conflict
Acting like galaxies aren’t erupting into black holes
And the universe isn’t becoming smaller one star at a time
But even in the coldest part of space
There’d be your hand
You; accented by a melody of color like every time we explore the world around us
Underneath the purple sky with the streetlights turning everything orange like a Halloween night
Underneath a pink sunset where everything was gilded in golds and yellows
Even in pitch darkness with the distant electrical buzzing of the abandoned construction site
Where if any light did show it was through the glassless windows
Distantly they provided no guidance through the maze we were exploring
But still we made our way through
Dodging large holes floors up and climbing questionably safe ladders
We made our way to the roof and lit cigarettes to add our own small light to the firefly buildings in the distance
And that’s where I fell in love with you
You who aren’t my savior or my only hope in this world
But someone who I’ll carry the water for because I know you have the snacks
On whatever hike
On whatever journey
It’ll be us in the same pace
Side by side
And there’d be your hand
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 8:06 PM UTC