"regressing" poems
Two thousand years
Regressing past the cross
Lead bites bitter as bronze
Gaza rages
The brimstone and fire you promised
You delivered
Apostle bound crusader
Jewish Lucifer
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
Now let us pray.
May hellfire rain down
on us today, on all those who
offered pay in
full metal change to watch
the life sized lights explode
& wicked witches
hanging by the throat
from a tenth floor window
it was all so cool.
so cool.
demon induced
dementia cemented in
an underground parking garage
sleepover
sleepless
starry eyed orphan
**** princess-
apparel section
regressing to an
oral fixation & a
need to keep the
fingers busy.
pink **** carpet
heart shaped atrocity
rotten thing.
you ain't the boss of me
paleface
scarab angel
seraph snake
made up cheap
heart tarnished
purely
black comedy
legs like a limousine
keeping company with
the holy cross
dressers on the
local drug scene.
oh how special.
yesterday
I fed my
edificial fetish
& I could not
stop thinking.
these high
arched ceilings.
could not contain
my feelings,
if they tried.
drive by advertisements
remind me there's
not much
to be excited about.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
Don’t make homes out of people because they always leave and take everything you own with them.
Home doesn’t feel like home without you and because of that I’ve stopped building homes out of people.
But I saw the beauty of the world in your eyes and it always gave me hope.
I’ve been feeling homeless and now I’m always home a lot less because of you.
You are as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside and that’s why people are still drawn to your aura.
Depression hit harder than the recession, it had me regressing and constantly questioning my level of progression.
Purple jacaranda petals spread all around my feet as I patiently wait for my heart to make a sound.
This hopeful romantic knows that hearts get broken like mirrors, records and promises do.
All the jacaranda trees in Pretoria still remind me of the beauty that is you.
When the relentless heat of the sun drove me crazy all I could think about was your smile and those hazel-brown eyes.
I spend some nights drinking my favourite wine by myself but this bottle of Pinotage will always taste better in your presence.
I still want to hold your heart like the lonely autumn trees hold the fragility of clinging leaves.
But you’re no longer mine to love and the thought of you being with someone else kills me.
Hearts fall to the ground like jacaranda petals do but unfortunately the view is not so beautiful.
Purple jacaranda petals spread all around on every street as I patiently wait for my heart to make a sound.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC
The play is written to be staged in a pub or a large cave like yurt in Cardiff. Its action and dialogue provides characterisation, with sound and lighting being used to establish context. The setting a darkened pub corner that is modelled on The Bunch of Grapes in Pontypridd. There are only 6 characters, five speak in haiku-ed verse with the exception of the Drunk who acts as my 'Greek Chorus'.
- Hand-in-hand she enters to **** her thumb in a corner
- Chocolate ice cream soda demanded from Daddy
- Joking banter ceased slowly as the regulars all begin to quaff their brown pints
“Balll uut eass swept -
Chimrrrrr, Chiirriica,
war is never won”
- Church quiet, the village pub listened lips clamped tears swelling
“ ***** cut swapped with eyes -
Chimerica, Chimerica,
war is never won”
- The cornered hero of two Afghanistan tours is seen regressing into childhood**
The set darkens slowly then after 30 seconds a spotlit conversation in lines and stanzas begins.
Haiku and tanka that inspired the coming play include:
*********** -
thoughts sought, taught and wrought,
testosterones
Fighting aggressive games,
Afghanistan camouflage
Globalism and War -
cloned greedy conspiracy,
that third tower
Titled selfish-self-grandiose,
deliver warring terror
Springs cut Irises -
dripping vital red not purple,
far from my window*
.
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 11:11 AM UTC
a twenty-six year old woman sits alone outside a coffee shop, waiting
she plays Snake on an old Nokia that was discontinued long ago
her red dread locks are tucked neatly under a worn beanie
that she stole from the boy that she gave her virginity away to
in a skate park when she was nineteen
a twenty-six year old woman sits alone at her desk, writing
she has a one night stand whose name she doesn't remember sleeping in her bed
her mascara is running and her lips are dyed black from henna
that she stole from the girl who offered her shelter when she ran away to live
in her car and dingy motel rooms after college
a twenty-six year old woman sits outside a Stop and Shop, drinking Shasta
she recently tried to publish her book of poems , but it was rejected so:
her shorts barely covered her backside and she wore the bralette
that she stole from her brother's girlfriend while she was visiting
in the false hopes that he would register how badly she needed him (or anyone)
a twenty-six year old woman sits in a little blue rowboat, drilling holes into the bottom
she skims Red Kayak before she leaves home and ties rocks around her ankles
her thoughts are set on mentally regressing the pain of her teenage years
that she wishes she could steal back to at least put some emotion back
into her heart
it'd been better than feeling nothing at all
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
So this is as it was, the old wound still itches
Glimpses of your face and my heart still twitches
If time heals all wounds then what am I to do
When my life has been frozen
Since last I saw
You soften your eyes as they flickered to mine
Skirted the contact then burned deep inside
Gritting my teeth in the pleasurable pain
A razor machete in welcome invasion
Expertly wielded through my jungle of thoughts
Clearing a path and discovering
My soul lost in
Your damp forest of evergreen trees
Rooting my soil and growing up through me
Bringing fresh life to my stagnant dirt
Oxygenating the air of my earth
Reversing pollution, reviving, refreshing,
Regressing the growth of the thorns in my flesh and
Cutting the cancer that
I might live,
Leaving your legacy scars.
So this is as it was, the wound still itches
Glimpses of your hand and my heart still twitches
If time heals all then what can I do
Since my death was frozen
When last I felt you.
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 4:22 PM UTC
forward forward forward
going somewhere moving forward
whether progressing or regressing
growing or unlearning
coming or going
living, dying
everyone believes they are moving towards something
and as everything happens all at once
each perceptive reality is entirely different than any other
and each consciousness travels, and does, and is.
each consciousness believes it has a purpose or a path.
the purpose is not to see into nor plan the future.
from the civilian to the hero tv shows and movies
have consistently glorified the ability to see visions of the future
generally this is followed by someone trying to prevent
the happenings in said vision from becoming reality
and distinctly failing because they "saw into" the future
that their own energy influenced
but the true super power is to be able to look into the past.
to prevent the omitting of details and data
to avoid a rewrite of our conscious interaction with this planet
not to white out the chapters that bear the truth in the textbooks
to recall history so it does not repeat itself
my question is then
do people disguise the wrongdoings of those hidden by the passing of time?
because they are ashamed of the mistakes of their ancestors pasts?
because they are ashamed of their participation in past consciousness's?
because they are ashamed of the atrocities humans have inflicted upon each other and themselves as well as their home planet since the beginning of recorded time here?
or do those who have the power to omit and hide history
purposely rewrite it?
do they mask the pains of the past so the rest of us will forget?
so that even they can forget?
so their next consciousness can unknowingly, while predestined,
have hand in crimes against the world all the same as committed in the lost past?
how many times has someone written these words
or a similar combination
only to delete the post?
burn the pages?
backspace the message?
stop themselves from speaking them aloud?
cover the symbols?
pass out of conscious living mid sentence?
lose them to a past lifetime?
how many times has this cycled through the same way?
how many times have I been me?
how many times have you been me?
how many times have I been anyone?
how many times have I been?
is there a rhythm or is it all as scattered and random
as the thoughts that bring you
to this kind of an understanding of the habit of misunderstanding?
the kind of thoughts that bring you back to the birds nest because you were too early for even the worm?
they will all catch up eventually
after all they all think theyre moving forward
and they don't even know where they've been.
they don't even know that they've been.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
poems are like the seasons,
constantly changing yet always beautiful in their own way--
ironic, tragic, sadistic, blasphemous.
i can smell the sweet scent of the crescent moon
as it's cold white rays dance across my eyes,
around my head, in one ear and out the other
so quickly that a whistling whisper reverberates inside my dome,
yet unknown to me was the feeling of fleeing--
running away to a land of John and Jane Doe's,
nobodies to me, though somebodies to themselves, I suppose.
here we would sit, regressing our last lines,
of crescent moons, yet now the sun shines.
how can it be?
such a social tragedy, to escape and relate
life as it was to the life chosen to take.
no more "dudes", "dawgs", crude words or flaws--
just life as we know it, no need for applause.
the dying days of life astray have taught us and led us on our way
to the tundra of thunder, it crashes down and haunts us,
once cold, no light, now steaming and much too bright.
go ahead, raise me to the Heavens,
i dread the day my angels no longer beckon,
"His path is now set, we can intervene no longer."
demons will rise in rupturing riptides
as Hell freezes over, yet flames override.
Carpe Diem, Carpe Nox,
i've seized the seasons squealed the silver fox.
the crescent moon looked down that day,
upon us all, upon the choices we made.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 1:53 PM UTC
Why are you acting as rabbit
when you could howl like a wolf?
You’re always hiding. Always regressing.
Never really going anywhere.
You channel these thoughts, yes. You manifest them. On a page.
On a stage. Like a smiling circus clown,
like a trapeze artist, flying, stumbling
through the realm of obscurity. A forgotten juggle. A lost tape.
It does not matter.
Why?
Why do you do these things?
Why are you so scared?
They are not grand thoughts. They are not ideas
meant to change.
They are private insights. Jittery. A look into the eyes of some scared soul.
Your poems are minutiae, insignificant details. They are
the trembling lip. They are the shaking hand. The confused daze.
They do not know who they are,
but they know that they are small.
You want to be a monolith, but you refuse to build,
you refuse to haul the black stones. You do not have the power.
You are a caricature. You are as scared as Paris,
as two-faced as Iscariot- you could kiss with passion.
You could rule with love. But you bow out. You take
responsibilities with you, and slink into the dirt you
arose from. You are clay. You are dust.
Why are you dust? You don’t have to be.
Why aren’t you angry- you should be roaring!
Why are you quiet- you should be singing, singing
with the cicadas- chirping with the birds,
howling with the wolves; you should join the tumult,
the uproar;
but you sit. You play with your toys like a petulant child
and scream when they break. That’s the only noise you ever make.
You could be a wolf. You don’t have to be the prey.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 11:11 AM UTC
Apart in my lust
I separate
Disconnect
Break
There’s an infinite space where these fingers once entwined
I rise above my own flesh just to watch it die
Languorous apathy
I slept as death whispered
Through the murk of my self-inflicted
Desolation
Regressing until my heart withered from its bones
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
oh, beautiful illusion
grazing my glorified point of view
misleading wants
biased selflessness
trains in sight
translucent and always late
old music tenderly swooning
emotions of my moments
i am the pretender
i am the fear within fear
of leaving
i'm regressing towards
love's slavery
forceful freedom
and sheltered
unknowns
Dec 15, 2009
Dec 15, 2009 at 9:37 PM UTC
**Regressing into happenstance
I grasped the Rabbit in my hand
One sip I took, upon a chance
Off the edge, into quicksand. . .
Blacking out on your front lawn
On the ground, where you could stand
Can’t remember dusk or dawn,
Sinking fast into quicksand.**
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 3:07 AM UTC
You said you hate my suffering
And you understood
And you'd take care of me
These words are not mine
I do not write
What is worthwhile
I just can't hear
Anything but pain
Any longer
You all speak some other language
Or maybe I'm just regressing
And soon I will be unborn
Soon I will return
To the grave that once was
Will always call
To return to me
The oblivion of home
And avoid the disintegration of dreams
And I will see
What is clear
To the world surrounding me
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 4:09 AM UTC
understand
make it stand
let it in
grasp it tight
find the heart of the light
give it water for more
hear it beat and sweet
release the flow throughout
seeping doubt
squelched in blackened drought
listened under moonlit ponds
broken by lingering clouds
shrinking
growing
morphing
exploding shrapnel hits
the streets in domino lines of
clings, clanks
against pavement
green with feeling
tentacles outstretched
grabbing downpour
more griping
a wiping the slate clean
a new approach to a one way road
sweeping away the swept under
forgotten
the last day, a cleansing
sweaters donned for greater betterness
less impressiveness, bored aggressiveness
regressing
to under intelligence, minor importance
broken vases line the halls
flowers gasp soaking last remains
crying death
its toll rising infinite forms
everywhere
everyday
every
second
this moment
emptiness
misery’s hand clenched tight
suffocating life, energy bound
and wound so small and tight
bound to explode any moment
epiphany epiphany
epiphany
ephemeral projected instance
prism hemmed answers
nullifying yourself
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive /
this **** is impressive / Got ghosts in my mind, but I’ll be addressin’ / This **** in my head that’s got me depressed / Workin’ my hardest, trying my best / tryna escape, can't get out of bed / Word on the street is I’m losing my head / Fight me, I dare you / C’mon go ahead / I’ve been sittin on diamonds under my bed / Stole a whole paycheck and left that boy dead
Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Depressive Depressive / Manic Depressive,
this **** is impressive / Tryna escape, can’t get out of bed / Listen to these voices inside my head: Blood and it’s spilling out of my veins / Onto the bed sheets / Leaving red stains / Can’t help but wonder / If maybe this pain / Will just go away if I bleed down the drain
Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Depressive Depressive /
Ah, **** I just missed my train.
Whatever, I’ll come back and ride it again
Manic, Depressive /
A little obsessive / Standing on rooftops wearing my messes / Know I could jump / Know that it’s reckless / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Depressive Depressive Depressive Depressive / Took all my pills, Why am I stressin? / Can’t even look at my ******* reflection / Had all my meds / Why’m I still crying? / Doesn’t the world see that I’m dying? / Can’t help but feeling, there’s no denying / Hate that I’m worthless / Hate that I’m crying / I prolly need help but I’d rather be flying /
/ I prolly need help but I’d rather be flying /
Manic Depressive / I’m on top of the world / Just earlier today, I met this cute girl / And maybe she loves me, maybe she don’t / I want her to know that --- love her? I won’t / Manic Depressive / I’m crying I hate it / I saw the sunrise but I’m really debating / What I will say in my last moments / Goodbye to God and Hello to Satan /
Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Manic- It’s come down to this / Why I’ve been waiting, / It’s come down to this / Why I’ve been waiting / right now it’s Game Day / No hesitating
/ I prolly need help but I’d rather be flying /
Here comes the train, no more delaying / shaking the rails / standing between / Heaven and Hell / and then someone yelled -
Fell out of the way / at the sound of the horn / surrounded by dust, coughing a storm /
Look back at the tracks, see only fear / I’m a ******* coward / Can’t believe I’m still here
Manic Depressive / Depressive / Depressive: Now I’m just sinking / Back into bed / Can’t shut off these voices inside my head / I’m shaking, I’m screaming: Why Aren’t I Dead?
Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Now I’m regressing: / Found some guy, says that I’m cute / Don’t want what he’s got but I guess this will do / He looks at me like / Maybe I’ve got a clue / But really I don’t and I know it won’t last / I’m just reliving my painful past / I’m hoping he’ll take me somewhere away - away from my body, away from my brain / but all that he does is add to my pain / he calls me his Kitten / Says I’m so great / I’m wondering if maybe I made a mistake
Manic, Depressive / Massive attack / I’ve gotten to this place / Where I’ve come detached / Nothing makes sense / nothing is fact / I’m half locked away / Just shut the latch
/ Manic, Depressive / This **** is Impressive / Manic, Depressive / Just shut the latch
Manic, Depressive / I can’t even speak / Manic, Depressive / but I know I’m not weak
I prolly need help but I’d rather be flying
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 12:53 AM UTC
Careful casting blessings in tongues not truly understood
It's said there is a serpent that entangles dragon's blood
And spitfire be a voice so loose with foolish finds
Looking towards inviting angels, but be the demons in disguise
Karmic value matters in existence past the alibis
So negligent some limbs behave upon the Tree of Life
Do you count the numbers or apply them?
Do the readings code the river stream?
Divine and simple too easy to believe
I'm starting to think that many will not in aeons, come to perceive
Regressing back into the caves
To fight the tigers with their blades
Spirit can always evolve, but beside the spirit remains an umbra
The serpent that binds as the helix to merge with yours
Through the jungles in your mind and beneath your ocean's floor
Tempting to eliminate duality in disavowing ways
But comes the wave and overstep of the orchestra's score
Written by the master architect to arrest ophidian psyche force
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
You stood in the limelight
before a shaft of blazing luminescence
emitted from the zenith positioned
matrix of all energy
The brightness illuminated your
radiant countenance
as blackness enveloped around your
structures as in a early baroque
by Rembrandt
Your form was made from the finest
materials
But your representatives stood in defiance going beyond
their eroded gardens and
trampled vegetation and beast
underfoot; even defecated plutonium
in my backyard
and belched various gases in my face
Luxury is still your ideology;
all to sure in obtaining
unlimited resources
You are still heavily consuming
the best
still maintaining the frivolous notion
that all is well
never anticipating
that time passes into the future
The shaft of blazing sunlight
has insidiously been replaced
by a blinding interrogation lamp
as darkness licks at your morals
and creeps upon your very being
small cracks are now being discovered upon your once lovely face
No longer can you obtain desirous
riches as readily
as options become minimized,
while playing and bullying a winning serious game of monopoly
against poor countries
Panic is beginning to take hold
as reality overcomes frivolity
You are starting to run,
you have already left one of your golden combat boots
in Vietnam; later pirated black gold
from Mesopotamia
under perjury and severed our nation with the fascistic sword of xenophobia,
and plundered the spirits, at home, and other innocent minorities unjustly
And nationalised yourself from a continent to an island regressing
into itself; homogenized into exceptionalism and the nervous propagandized
gnashing of Caucasian teeth
But doubtless to say
there is no reason
for a prince to save you
because you have gotten too old,
much too corporatised,
too corrupted, too soon, too fast,
YOU MUST SAVE YOURSELF!!
And I know you can
And I know you can
be that lady with that beacon torch of hope...once...again
And whence comes the nourishment of love that flourishes once more...
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC
The crimson on your petal has lost its aesthetic appeal,
Once smoothly textured, you’ve become prickly,
One touch that could make medicine ill,
Bloom they say like the flower you are,
Regressing back to a seed only dilutes your potential by far,
If you were a planet, you would be called Venus the reluctant star,
What happened to the passion that runs skin deep in your hue?
Your thorns express the type of painful beauty,
Only those that are admired from afar can do.
Indeed the light that shined on your peers,
Will find its time to shine on you,
But patience is only a virtue if the outcome flourishes,
Into the type of majestic beauty,
Only a great late bloomer can do.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
Separated by progress
We live in isolation
Socially stagnated
Growing ever distant.
Focus further inward
Without hesitation,
Cutting off future conflicts
Before they even happen.
Perspective and reality
No longer separate
Echo chamber catalysts
Shattered-faction fragment.
Elitist tactics brainwash
Entire populations,
Localised abundance withers
With dying vegetation.
Doomsday clocks lurching
Our salvation diverges
Shouting to the twilight sun
We share but false elation.
Entire regions' designated
Means of production
No new doctrines allowed
All hail consumption.
Ever directionless, at a loss
Regressing into violence:
Revolutionaries' proudest
Of our failed revolutions.
Living out our dreams
Of solitary bliss,
Live alone in harmony
Or die in the abyss.
What piece of work is man
That chooses inhumanity
A species in a chasm
Led by mere savages.
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 6:26 PM UTC
I had to smother this lust and aggression
But I found my enemy was my mode of repression.
Suppressed, depressed I watch them dance around
Regressing, listening to the music’s throbbing sound
I find myself sitting here in a lonely stupor
Disengaged languishing in this torpor
The sound of pouring: a dreadful mass
But I still won’t fail to drain my glass!
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 10:13 AM UTC
Who takes precious pearls and throws them to the pigs, I wonder?
Who considers gold and silver better off cast asunder?
Or who sees love as a fleeting thing? As if a crack of thunder?
All these questions lie inside as I sit and deeply ponder.
I have no doubt, folks choose these routes. A disfigured, battered blessing. Hate has wrought all love is lost. Our hearts need an assessing.
Humanity, as you can see, has backpeddled. Now regressing.
The world has fought for hatred to be taught. To love I am insisting.
For I remember a time so very long ago
When households stuck together, and in love they did grow.
When families basked in togetherness.
And each other they did know.
Now broken, battered blessings
This world has now bestowed.
Dont hug or touch. We don't get affection much. We all must keep our distance.
To be alone with hearts of stone.
Humanities resistance
A worldwide epidemic - not the flu,
But hatred is the menace.
Do not come near! Your presence is feared! For closeness makes us grimace.
Now here my plea, open up your eyes and see. Who it is, to be our true enemy.
Each and every one must flee - from hatred, lust, fear and greed.
For the devil has done his job. A job well done - a planted seed.
Dont embrace it or defend it! Fight back! Advice all of us should heed!
People act as if they think a vaccine might be the answer.
While hatred effectively grows inside like an insidious, smirking cancer.
People just don't get it because the truth
Has now been blurred.
Now all are fixated on the ruse -
A great deception has occurred.
This world has become manic and were caught up in the panic, but its our hearts that are diseased.
All in all hate has to stall. Our pride, our sins, must stop, must freeze.
We have to shed this wickedness -
This spiritually infested sleeze.
Come back to the LORD our God -
Come back to our knees.
Love inevitably is the cure, of this I'm sure.
You all have heard my plea.
Lay your sins down on the floor and sin no more and set your bound souls free.
For we were not made to live in fear -
But to be filled with love and filled with glee.
So let us all begin to love each other once again. I will start. I'll take the lead. Once you have revived your hearts then carry love and follow me.
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 10:49 PM UTC
Munch on some
salty chips, chewy cookies, sandwiches of every spread,
and of course instant cup noodles.
Sit back and tap your fingers to some
tunes in that carefully constructed playlist.
Snuggle with that
favorite stuffy bunny and catch up on sleep
While I---
I will keep my eyes open every moment,
eager for the cinematic scene playing in the window
of the Metro regressing back to its roots:
From the bustling city
with its mechanical hums and bright lights,
to the sleepy village
and its vintage stillness and simplicity,
to the vast rice paddy
like an emerald in the sunlight,
then to the thick, dense rain-forest
echoing melodic chirps and hoots.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
The study of guessing
a stab in the dark
scientific regressing
maiden voyage embark
Truth is often too stark
and seldom impressing
the truth's a remark
that lies are **********
order in chaos
joy within sadness
laughter in crying
borderline madness
life found in dying
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
why does it feel like
everyone is moving on
and here I'm stuck in my
head, falling?
it's a crash course in life,
that's only left me broken,
a man with no calling.
dwelling on the
past, torturing myself
regressing instead of
progressing
fallin' in a deep
depression,
unable to escape this hell.
i keep looking for a
way out, but there's no
end in sight,
and so, I find myself.
alone and barely
alive.
Nov 29, 2023
Nov 29, 2023 at 12:01 AM UTC