"recollect" poems
This little bag I hope will prove
To be not vainly made —
For, if you should a needle want
It will afford you aid.
And as we are about to part
T'will serve another end,
For when you look upon the Bag
You'll recollect your friend.
10.8k
It was early nineteen thirty four
The world was set to change
Europe was on fire
It was time to rearrange
Poland was the first stop
The German Army on the move
So we left for America
I hope you did approve
You came with me to Jersey
On a trip across the sea
You've guarded all my secrets
Known by only you and me
You used to spin quite gaily
Now you just stand there en pointe
You're my clipped wing little angel
That's the name I shall anoint
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
I sit here and remember
All the treasures you once hid
You've still some trinkets in there
Some from when I was a kid
Your tu tu is all tattered
The silk lining frayed and torn
But, you've held together nicely
But, I guess we're both quite worn
Your lipstick isn't red now
I hear your music in my head
It hasn't played for 50 years
I just remember it instead
The music gave up playing
You were slightly over wound
But, you still twirled and kept dancing
Even though there was no sound
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
I've told you more than anyone
Than I have ever known
We've been together now forever
You're the most precious thing I own
You've been with me for two husbands
And you've seen my kids pass on
There's just me and you, my dancing girl
All the rest of them are gone
Your paint is chipped and cracked
Your pony tail is broken too
If I still can recollect now
In the fall of fifty two
Your spring is rusted tightly
You need a hand to stand up right
But, then again, I do as well
And most days it's quite the fight
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
Charms and little trinkets
Plastic jewellery, real as well
Secrets of a child
Secrets you would never tell
I am now moving to December
Of my calendar of years
Soon my life will end and
There's no one left to shed me tears
I sit here and I wonder
What shall become of you
My Thumbelina Ballerina
In your dancing dress of blue
You started as a music box
You are not used as that no more
But, Thumbelina Ballerina
Will you dance for me once more?
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
so i get this idea sometimes
that you enjoy being coy
when it comes to me
to conjure momentary spectacle
& make me wonder
if you paint catharsis
on the doors of a home
you've never lived in
as a memory of our first night together
because i do, i remember you
beaming white on blue
speaking softer than any storm
i ever knew, i often think that maybe
you live that night in your mind
when your pillow is cold
& you can't sleep, it makes me wonder
if you do as i do, and rewrite three years fictionally beginning with a kiss somewhere
maybe a balcony or a quiet car
on the sand or in a sunlit grove close to your home but always a familiar scar on the maps we know we know by heart
i wonder if sometimes
the idea of me loving you is too real
and if it teems under your tongue
to stay observant but distantly intrigued
if by this distance you think it safe
to get a dog and pass time
on the couch with a journal & some wine
what i really wanna know is if your fingernails ever wish to have my skin under them
or if they would boast
about winning a war with my headboard
i wonder if you can imagine me
meeting your parents in your apartment & shaking your fathers hand
as a first of many calloused palm readings
and if you know that i trembled before them
how insignificant i had felt
to not know their daughter
in the way i had envisioned
how i picture such poignant moments
so tangibly sharp that sometimes
i replace my memories with little stories
i tell myself that i can't count on two hands
the number of times i've seen you
& that i don't feel like a crater
when i recollect our collisions
i want to know if you still find madness
in the words that have always been about you
i wanna know if your imagination of me
looks more like an anniversary or an obituary
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC
i'm not sure what happened
to those beautiful women
i used & let live in my
shivering veins
synchronized swimming in my circulatory system
sunken eyes brimming
with that chlorine concoction they used to dip in
i dug them & ditched them
but i still recollect their quivering lips
as i dispensed the final kisses
& surrounded the spa with walls & fences
i mean i wonder if they still exist
with no lifeguard there to witness them?
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:47 PM UTC
all is well
only time will tell
is she well?
do you ask to define her
or to further understand
why she no longer can confide in others
attempting to define intimacy
placing love in several endeavors
she has lost the denotation
of a natural organic salvation.
who let you define her
without her did you know
they would be lined up.
you don't know her true value
and now she can no longer find it.
I now know none of us do
real love never fails
and not one of us prevailed.
dear future self
love has failed you
recollect because in the end
you were still you
without it.
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 2:40 PM UTC
Once upon a day or night -- Wait, it was day, there was a light
a light, which shone upon a moonlit drive so dark and drear.
At keeping track, I'm sadly slacking. Forgive my memory, it is lacking
memoirs of this day of days I could not -- would not -- hear.
But now alas, alan, alack, something gruesome did attack, my dear.
Something's ugly head did rear.
Indistinctly, I remember, was it June? July? November?
Moments burn together as I recollect the fear.
And though he knows it gets to me, he will never set it free,
the truth of all the memories I used to hold so dear.
The truth you chose to hide from me for days, turned months, turned year.
But no, I will not shed one tear.
He held my hard heart high in flutter. Stomachs full of bread and butter.
Our love could not be jaded, for he traded tea from beer.
And though we were the oddest pair, I thought by now he would not care
how people chose to say their puns of nuns and hateful jeer.
Of wolves and sheep, of awkward sleep, of hunters hunting deer.
I thought we had our life in gear.
Sadly, though, I was mistaken. Blast, that awful wretch has taken
my whole soul and everything I previously thought mere.
He broke it off, and with a cough confessed, a darkest truth repressed
of everything, how twas a lie, and that the end was near.
And with four words, a looking glass of sorts he handed me to peer.
These the blue-eyed snake hath spoke: "Honey, I'm a queer."
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
unravel, untied, our love my love has died
it was yours then mine, but now it rests in pockets of time
pockets of sunshine, rack my memories to re-find
recollect your light, re-experience your mind
maybe if I hold on to it tight enough, the frequency i’ll be riding on
will re-attract you back, to re-tether our hands together again
maybe that's too idealistic, maybe that's against the laws of physics
maybe I am just as stupid as this dream is
maybe I am broken for a reason
I don't know, I just thought it was special
the most saturated jewel tones
I don't know, I just thought it was something
the most beautiful to the most unknown
Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 8:37 AM UTC
I am still
In deep thought-
Wondering, how easy I’ve let you slipped
From my hands
And from my heart
--
Let’s take a step back
And recount the moments
Recollect the memories
Reminisce the good old days
And reassess this overnight decision I’ve impulsively taken
Let’s take a few more steps back
And remember the first time I met you
Back in high school
The first time I said hi
And thought you were cute
You were a plethora of my firsts
The first boy bestfriend I’ve ever had
The first boy to ever ask me out on dates
The first boy to talk to me on a daily basis
The first boy I ever liked…. Who actually liked me back
Undoubtedly,
You were my first love
I thought I loved you like I’d never love anyone else
I told you everything
Wrecked these walls I’ve sheltered from for so long
Just to hand you this little fragile heart of mine
Through the cracked linoleum and the broken glass windows
I gave you a golden ticket and an aerial view
To my world
And after two years,
In the end,
You did decide to return the favour
You trusted me enough
To let me enter this mystical world of yours
These two dimensions you seem to always get lost in
Those two roads diverged in a wood
That you can never seem to wrap your head around
and choose
As I write this,
I start to realise why and how I stopped loving you
I think I got tired
Of trying to pull you up
As you let yourself drown in the seas
of your undecided thoughts
I stopped loving you
The moment you say “I’m going to change”
But the next day you woke up
You put on the same old clothes
You took the same route
To the place that led you exactly back to where you once were
I got sick of
Saying the same things
Over and over again
Asking you to change
Only to expect nothing in return
Truth be told
As similar as we are as people
We live in worlds too distant apart
Your world is too foreign for me, too fast and scary
Whereas my world is too small and tightly guarded, all child’s play
As much as I’d want to love you
I can’t seem to do so
And if I could, I'd say this a million times to you
I truly am sorry.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 9:55 AM UTC
She wants to become a girl again,
After two divorces, three kids and
pieces of heart blended
into the uneven daily affairs.
She wishes to be innocent once more.
To see the sky through her amber eyes;
To laugh carelessly down a penniless neighborhood;
To recollect the fragrant things she holds dear.
Where is the Anne of Green Gables?
Where is the Alice in Wonderland?
Where are Jo, Meg, Beth, and Amy?
Where did the flowers go to die.
She tells me she misses all the sunrise,
Gazing into a blue sunset,
The cooking that tastes no longer loving,
The perfume that smells no longer happy,
The loneliness that is no longer heroic.
She carries on, with her broken wings,
and the birth of a woman's concrete essence.
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 1:28 PM UTC
I saw her
I saw her smile
Focus out through the sparkle
Reflecting from her danglers
And the ones in the atmosphere.
Turquoise sequinned with beige
Crackers, all around her
Our first new year
Where she took me by
My hand, entangling fingers
Lacing, when she thought she'd
Lost me,skipping between
White walls and brown floors
Finding a way out
Through the maze.
Low hung ceiling lamps.
Dragging me back through my memory doors
Remains the same
White walls and brown floors
While I wait outside.
Inside you're having your chemo.
Crackers
Inside my heart
Slithering through my mouth
I see her in between
Those flinging and swinging
Prayer flags, I recollect
Hanging them in the backyard
Of our home, you
Bargained them out
A flea market, before
That year's Diwali
You had inside of you
A life that would bless us
In three months.
A tangerine Georgette Saree
And rhyming with it,
Rani colored bangles
Sneaking up on the roof.
Crackers
White walls, wooden floors
You lie quiet, unmoved.
A skyrocket ups in a distance
As I light you up in flames.
Crackers
You'd always come back
Focusing, defocusing
My memories' pitaara
Sparkling, dangling
Skipping and lacing
Through all those crackers
Lighting me up
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:21 AM UTC
*The two felt a chemical attraction.
Serotonin leaked onto his uncovered skin.
He couldn't speak, his tongue dried, dehydrated by her heat.
**** those eyes were like Kryptonite, He had pride in himself for being a statue.
Smooth as a razor blade he came out of that conversation dull.
The wrong impression was given since he had handed her rotten flowers.
Give me a second to recollect my thoughts and bring them back from the stunned blackout, wow, you are such a powerful knockout.
I'm fixing my posture and choosing my words right.
Our symbols are well matched and I'm not talking astrology, I'm talking chemistry.
Two different colors mixed together makes her blush and makes me crush.*
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
~~~
“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” Henri Bergson
well in that case,
I’m either the most immature teen here,
or Rip Van Winkle
the re-creation process is six, nearly seven,
decades long (you thot days, ha, no way),
can’t recall the last name
I called myself
the delving, the researching, the forgetting,
the fifty first dates of no short term memory,
the checkdown, throwback Thursday of
did I write that?
no recollect, the pretense of
prehensile strength to touch
you and me simultaneously
might, could be true,
if you claim I authored it,
ok with me and all that
life taught me this,
the one who oft hangs around
very young kids
learns a lot,
and soon recognizes
maturity indeed endless
but not senseless
just a poem-of-the-day process
indeed
every sense says the minute difference
between this morning and this approaching midnight,
an opportunity to grow up, stand straighter, uprighter,
write down my failures one more time,
cause that is the sterling hallmark impressed upon
thyself, ourselves,
that is genuine maturity,
the courageous wisdom to start all over again
the clock has transgressed,
moving past
the 12:00am digits,
which for cause
makes me giddy,
it’s permission to write a new one,
of course,
maturely thinking I still got one within,
a newbie, an aged day-old brand new baby,
a poem,
of course
god bless, I’m all grown n’ growled up,
with wisdom to know I don’t got nada,
but own the immature youthful courage of maturity,
to keep on trying, endlessly,
being your obedient-servant
~~~
*p.s. this is kind of love poem of thanksgivings,
a love poem with no misgivings,
a thank you for the fragments of sharing -
hold so dear,
the best reason to mature,
the best reason to change,
the best reason to write
right now, here comes the mojo
my newest oldest friend,
reminding for the last and first time
that I’m all growed,
using the bigliest words I’ve known
to say baby, hey baby,
good night good morning
write us a poem,
a thank you note,
from one who blessedly forgets his name,
day in and year out*
For that guy,
you, that ancient kid,
That poet-in-retrograde
so rewrite the title, a refresh,
are you immature enough to write?
1:12am
~for the crew~
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 1:28 AM UTC
I've lost a battle
Within my soul
My mind is unsettle
Forgot about my goal
Now trying to revive
To recollect and recall
The medium to survive
Before another fall
The pressure is intense
From my own peers
My heart goes in pretense
Hiding all my fears
Night brings in dark thoughts
To harm myself again with pains
Destined to fight these lots
But my hands are soaked with stains
Blood, it is mixed with ink
As I write on these walls
Drawing up my insanity link
That's when I heard the calls
Ambu sirens squeak the street
Someone rushes in my room
Gives me anesthesia as a greet
But time kicked me to my doom...
©sim
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 7:04 PM UTC
Where goes the time when it flies?
Simplified by expression, and stained by clarity.
Smudge by lucidity
smeared by simplicity
tainted by intelligibility.
Tempus fugit as in time flies.
Sharply distressing with painful feelings
to the point of mental instability
morning or night
we become possessed with its mystic dealings.
Where goes the time when it runs?
Not a solitary explanation is found.
It happens and it won’t stop
until life terminates as well
without cause.
Derived of rationalisation
lacking understanding
short of justification
bursting with vindication
persistently and with conviction.
Where goes the time when it sails?
From the second that we’re born.
Where were we existing?
We cannot be so sure
Cannot recollect the past
Not for the first five of our years
Memory so blur, so shadowy
Hazy with distortions
obscure and confusing
Unit our mind starts slowly to recollect.
Where goes the time when it escapes?
The chronology of life so mysterious.
Nothing can solve its ambiguity
for time is a complex case
with an infinity of secrets.
What’s the obsession when we have so many setbacks
drawbacks and obstacles
obstructions and conundrums
to take care of before time perishes away
and leaves us stranded in oblivion.
Oh time, you magnificent of all mysteries,
the high and mighty of ambiguities.
Show us mercy and explain
we are not detectives of secrecies
your spell with us reflects on the whodunits.
Oh time of things past and yet to come
give us a clue as to what is to derive!
“Remember”
it softly replies “Make most of your lives”
“Once I fly away no one can have a replay”.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 6:11 AM UTC
red torii gates separate the sacred
engraved with kana names
I step on the stone tiles
reinvent myself by praying
to every god I have never believed in
donating all the coins I have to shrines
the omamori will protect me
with pretty ribbons, silk, and wood
their birds guide to understanding
converting lies into truths before me
their paper songs a tender kindness
and there is courage within me
even as my voice turns to melody
my words spill out a tune
the temple walls hum
a chorus of veracity, louder
I have come to realize the importance
of moral authenticity within me
your gracious decency, divine
delicate gentleness with my fragility
from shattered pieces I rebuild
recollect myself and rise stronger
the sakura blossoms melt
the tide rises up the torii
compelled by a cold moon
wooden birds take flight away
and I return solid and true
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
1142
The Props assist the House
Until the House is built
And then the Props withdraw
And adequate, *****
The House support itself
And cease to recollect
The Auger and the Carpenter—
Just such a retrospect
Hath the perfected Life—
A past of Plank and Nail
And slowness—then the Scaffolds drop
Affirming it a Soul.
5.1k
Unreality: Thanksgiving Miami Style
It is 70 degrees, afternoon,
sunny Miami winter style.
Nike shorts, flip flops,
polo shirt white,
music, pandora, and
no place he
needs to be.
the collected works and
worries, left behind,
the boy, and he is taking
it to the limit,
wanting a day of no cares,
one more time.
yet, recollecting, writing
impertent, dissatisfied,
no reason, none that I can
irrationally explain.
previous night,
my eyes have
seen the
second-coming.
everybody smiles
happy, looking fit,
tight black dresses
the law of the land.
food flows like wine,
wine flows like water.
lose track of the numbers,
glasses of Cortese di Gavi,
cold and white refilled
in the Miami heat,
exactly, how old am I,
and where
my eyes should
not be staring,
bodies intended
to maim,
after they
**** you.
it is a long-short tale,
how it came to be,
that I am living thanksgiving
in the unreality of Miami style.
was supposed be at the
head of the table carving,
giving secret tastes to
numerous grandchildren,
multiple dogs,
defrosting after the
Macy's Day Parade.
my children, their
kith and kin.
that was supposed to be
my New York reality,
at the head of the table.
divorce, monkey wrench,
I am in a different state,
a different table, a
welcome bystander,
but her love,
my love,
has brought me,
to unseasonal places,
higher and higher,
where I am welcomed
as her man.
not a bad unreality,
but still someone has torn
off a piece of me,
a tasty combo of
sad and guilt,
that I ******* up,
which is why this
writing is my re-righting
the ship of perspective.
maybe I am dreaming
of what was never,
could have been,
should of been,
kidding myself, with an idyll,
the unreality of an idol,
though I vague recollect,
there were meals like that.
think this is my fourth trip here,
sort of, almost a tradition.
BobbyDylan, he reminds
what that woman,
done for me,
been doing to me.
*"I was in another lifetime
one of toil and blood,
when blackness was a virtue
and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness
a creature void of form.
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter
from the storm".*
so she did,
a new reality born.
so semi-sad poem, but
happy thanks to give,
for this day,
new family
embracing, and I am
recollecting,
read somewhere,
you cannot be thankful
for having,
only for giving.
Thanksgiving
Not
Thanks-having
Thanks-receiving
New Reality: Thanksgiving Miami Style.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
So much have I forgotten in ten years,
So much in ten brief years! I have forgot
What time the purple apples come to juice,
And what month brings the shy forget-me-not.
I have forgot the special, startling season
Of the pimento's flowering and fruiting;
What time of year the ground doves brown the fields
And fill the noonday with their curious fluting.
I have forgotten much, but still remember
The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.
I still recall the honey-fever grass,
But cannot recollect the high days when
We rooted them out of the ping-wing path
To stop the mad bees in the rabbit pen.
I often try to think in what sweet month
The languid painted ladies used to dapple
The yellow by-road mazing from the main,
Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple.
I have forgotten--strange--but quite remember
The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.
What weeks, what months, what time of the mild year
We cheated school to have our fling at tops?
What days our wine-thrilled bodies pulsed with joy
Feasting upon blackberries in the copse?
Oh some I know! I have embalmed the days,
Even the sacred moments when we played,
All innocent of passion, uncorrupt,
At noon and evening in the flame-heart's shade.
We were so happy, happy, I remember,
Beneath the poinsettia's red in warm December.
5k
For lunch I ate a cinnamon roll
and thought of you.
not because you remind me
of breakfast pastries
and not because you are particularly sweet,
it is because my flickers of memories and surges of passion
I may recollect on any random day
are laced with pieces of you.
I have loved you for far more days
than I would ever care to count
but today I've realized something new;
it is in the moments of simple remembrance,
the times when I feel a spark for
no apparent reason
that ignites the feeling once again
with more force and vigor than
on any regular day,
to flare up my memory
that I have truly loved you
I will always love you.
there is a flame within me
that will never leave my heart in darkness
because even if you leave me,
or I you,
the flame may turn to embers
but can never be extinguished.
and even in my darkest and most lonely
of times,
I eat a cinnamon roll
and remember that I will
forever have a light,
a warmth and a memory
to keep me company.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 2:45 PM UTC
To even commence to define how profoundly I fell in love with you, I would need the capacity of a thousand-page manuscript written in the most romantic idiom.
Each, and every retention of us is stowed into the back of my conscious, and concealed deep into my heart.
Every beautiful memory plays through my head like soft music.
I would say my heart is immovable. There are days that I try to sojourn the thoughts of you, but its intolerable for me to do so.
I am so engulfed in your perfection. I do not think there has been a single day that you have escaped my thoughts.
I can feel your presence with me if I ponder our memories deeply enough. Your presence weighs heavily in my heart. It is as if part of your soul occupies its crevasses, and fills my cracks.
Your eyes are echoes of a hundred distant galaxies no man has ever revealed. Vast windows that reflect the constellations.
My heart is certain the universe resides in them.
As I begin to study your face, I feel like nothing but love can exist.
Your porcelain perfection never ceases to weaken me.
You weaken me with love, trust, and desire. Like the finest specimen created by the hands of Gods.
As I anticipate the connotation of love, the implication is “you”.
Even if the fire for what you feel for me dies, I do not reason the passion I have for you will ever dim.
I do not begin to recollect if I had ever felt this susceptible.
I let this passion be valued like the rarest stone.
I would give up the entire world if it meant I could have you in my life endlessly.
Your happiness is of grave importance to me, when I study your smile, I can overlook the darkness of this decaying reality.
Every heartbeat of time my mouth declares three unpretentious words.
“I love you”.
I say it like an invocation.
Not one moment did my tongue express profanity against these golden words of poetry.
I love you. “ I Love You” . And solitarily just you.
I wallow in my own sorrows at the thought of the culmination, when we shall one day part at death's hand.
For I deeply distinguish that you love me equally, and this brings vast pleasure to my temperament.
I sense security in your encirclement, your heart is my home.
My heart qualms of my fragile weakness that I consume when I dream of you.
You make me susceptible to the sickness of love.
If love was a poem, you would be the title.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
My girlfriend is upset,
and I have no idea why
For some reason she's mad,
and for some reason I made her cry
I tried to calm her down,
but she wouldn't look at my face
She told me to leave her alone,
and that I'm a rotten disgrace
I tried to speak to her,
but she did not want to tell
I tried to ask her what went wrong,
but she told me to go to hell
She did not cook me dinner,
so we ate Chinese take-out
I tried to smile and start a conversation,
but she just sat there with her pout
I wonder what I must have done,
to unleash such unholy wrath
I tried to figure it out,
I tried to do the Math
My girlfriend was trying to **** me,
and settle some unknown score
She tried to hit me with a frying pan,
and chase me out the door
I fear for my life,
my girlfriend has turned into a witch
Now she's got a chainsaw,
and she just turned on the switch
Her eyes were glowing red,
and she spat out blasphemy
She came at me with the chainsaw,
and I almost jumped out the balcony
I never saw her this worked up,
I must really be at severe fault
She was always so loving and kind,
but now all those things were at a halt
I tried to recollect if it was something I did,
or could it have been something I said?
Was I just a terrible boyfriend?
or was I just awful in bed?
As she chased me and I ran,
I wondered what started this vicious spat
It suddenly struck me and then I remembered,
Oh yes... I called my girlfriend FAT.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
My recollect is of the each,
The Two
And within the Two
One is the One
Holding and using our lead and ink utensils
as if they are weapons for winning at Love,
and reasoning for our written duel
Expressing desires the voice would customarily sever into dissection
Permitting authority to the crafted scripts *********
and may it’s barrier lay
over the possibility of a broken and scattered tongues communicate
Giving our internal intent its day
the way hoped it would speak
Expecting the requited, the return
was a pesticide over wide horizon,
Where the organic surprise of rainfall kept us neutral and thankful
And apart,
our minds maintained with
and of our other
With no need for philosophical proofs only the inner felt proof
Of forwarding shards of sentiment
with compiled assurance
and a dispatched formula
the best way we could phrase
Alongside images
that came in and held tight
in sectors tucked away and reserved from the cherished
to this day are still to be amazed
Spontaneous placement of universally synchronized jewels and stones
Of not have to have
[Only the simplified, pushed down and planted fact]
Of want her to have
So when away,
You feel a personal, singled-out
appraisal of praise
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 9:07 PM UTC
I wander these crowded streets
Foreign, reserved, and alone
A past memory never repeats
Distant, concealed, and unknown
My eyes recollect the places
But the places appear much older
My heart will connect to the faces
But the faces appear far colder
The strangers will pass me by
Ordinary, humble, or proud
Their voices will laugh and sigh
Composed, quiet, or loud
I walked once through this door
But the door remains never open
I felt belonging here once before
But the before remains now broken
©
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
I guess I’m okay… What more can I say?
Forget it—never mind,
You wouldn’t understand anyway,
Would you even know what it's like?
Inside a scattered disconnected mind,
Employed to go on strike?
Where indirect misdirect
The sincerity at play,
When sinusoidal chaos spikes
And past meets the future present day?
As paranoid points outlandishly connect
At intervals of broken lines,
Memory lost in recollect,
An array of misshaped bells
Internally infect the eternal confines
Of infinite distributional decay,
Parallels with no intersect,
Streetwise cells with empty signs,
Burned out lights, potholes, and landmines,
Littered all the way.
How am I to convey that all those times
You let your mind wander away
That I was reading, thinking, dreaming,
Teeming, never idle, never strayed,
Seeing, being, so far and away,
Even the brightest intellect beaming,
Could not grasp the feeling
In the slightest of highest orders reeling,
Wound unbound, or as it would be seeming,
Imperfect, even to the disarray
Of the tamest prefect, whose verdict
Could not predict the reflect,
For in this world, seeing is deceiving,
As the lamest reject, defect,
Increasingly decreasing,
In simplistic bliss obey
Crowned unsound fallacies
That contradict all meaning,
Hiding behind reality, the actualities
Lest, protect the thoughtlessness perceiving,
Let me stop you if I may...
I must interject for I digress,
What nonsense was I weaving?
Forget it—I've lost my mind,
I best be leaving,
What more can I say?
It's periodic I must confess,
You probably don't care anyway,
Yeah, yeah, I'll be okay,
Until next time I guess,
I wouldn't want to be misleading.
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
1349
I’d rather recollect a setting
Than own a rising sun
Though one is beautiful forgetting—
And true the other one.
Because in going is a Drama
Staying cannot confer
To die divinely once a Twilight—
Than wane is easier—
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