"researching" poems
A haunting stare with a serious note
Originates in a lad just thirteen
Ready to command or to set to task
Obedient, mature, and quick to rule
More comfortable with adults than peers
An old soul has he, loves cars from the past
Collects Civil War relics and antiques
Spends most his time reading and researching
Reads historical fiction, lost in time
Analyzes plants, insects, and ol' coins
He could be described like Chaucer's Cleric
"And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach."
He desires, especially, silver
Yet, gold and ex-presidents faces too
Protects younger members of his small clan
Only his hand will be attacking foe
It might be his fine grades, his quirk or two
That humbles his parents. Proudly they stand
And admire their first born miracle
A babe no more, his age will meet his soul.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
reaching the back of you
not sure I could. not sure i would.
scent of the crime uncommitted uncovered
the meandering is the man demigod demagogue taking
time
pleasured mercy
the remaindered searchingly
suffices
you don’t speak plain english the only tongue i got
insert the coin in your slot commencing researching the
way in and
don’t think i want to find the way out to the
back of you hiding in the inside learning the way you visualize
playing amy winehouse as an overlaying graph to the autoroute
to the south of france, sur-la-mer, why ever leave and you come
in my mouth poems new each time
no exit. no back of you. stuck in a longingly heaven
this house is my home and I know the sun brightest
when i put my coin in the slot of play and press the
new tune button at 4:10AM
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 4:17 AM 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 read that women like Spock
Because making someone love
Who says he cannot
Appeals to them.
I read that you usually
Go for guys and that you're
Incapable of feeling love
In the letters you wrote me
In confidence and I
Have to admit-
Those people researching Star Trek
May have been on to something.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:03 AM UTC
I have hairy legs.
The dishwasher is broken.
I have been reading books.
I have been solving stupid math equations
I have to wash the food crusted dishes.
I’m writing a novella
I’m also researching sodium chloride
My novella is only six pages single-spaced so far.
Comment vous appelez-vous?
Why doesn’t anyone participate
In the
Wash Your Own **** Dishes Program?
I’m studying French.
-b +/- Square root of b2 – 4 (a)(b) over 2(a)
Anyways.
I have been teaching myself
How to play my
Black
Stretchy
Accordion.
[I don’t know why,
But it’s stretchy
Like mozzarella cheese]
I have to help my sister-in-law move
Into my house.
Into the basement.
Heh heh heh.
Daiya non-dairy cheese:
“Melts and stretches!”
Now I have to scrape the
Black tar gunk
Off the plates, because
Mother told me to do so.
Oh, the odium of sodium!
There is
No more time
For me
To shave
My legs.
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC
They will laugh
But that won't stop you
They'll point out
Don't let that block you
Know your thing
And just keep going
Through the hard times
Slowly growing .
Stubborn
Strong
And restless be
See what others cannot see
Know what you want
Keep researching
No one knows for what you're searching
You define your own life-story
By your actions reach the glory
They will laugh But don't gain fear They'll point out Just fight, my dear
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 7:53 AM UTC
*I read never to trust in our own understanding and I believe that.
So I continue learning from the only source or line possible, a faithful and discrete slave, one who does not lie; one who is consistent and continually searching and researching for truth.
It is not something within me, but external I listen to.
A light that grows ever brighter through a humble channel and it makes sense.
I enjoy a feast of knowledge, a wonderful stream I can drink from and my roots stay strong because of it. Grateful and privileged I endure in a state of joy.*
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
building purist æsthetic
proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry
commemorating historic concert
sensing dark forces
fokken lekker antwoord
pumping sensory overload
featuring high-tech dee-jay
admiring gelato micro-truck
laxing laying lazing
"doing something nasty"
continuing quality content
entering another cathedral
journeying without borders
"exactly one year
since visiting vatican"
appreciating full-time gigasphere
awaiting pyongyang performance
depicting unlikely crowdsurfer
foreseeing exponential improvements
furthering esoteric agenda
sensing profound incompatibility
data-mining people's infidelities
anticipating futuristic caffeine
perfecting invisible propaganda
researching mind-control techniques
polishing psycho-social weaponry
sensing social embargo
flourishing frantic fanfare
admiring longitudinal monument
parodying marketing slogans
cycling through österreich
eyeing dystopian disneyland
streaming crosswords extended-play
herding glass kittens
deleting idiosyncratic fragment
loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth
receiving ultramodern telegram
eigo-ga wakarimasu ka?
guzzling duck-fat fries
encouraging panic selling
(juxtaposing past incarnations)
getting black-and-white privilege
renewing boutique account
relishing cinema poutine
re-entering hibernation mode
opening old windows
continuing zoo motif
absquatulating excessive excesses
nullifying originality claims
proliferating protean persona
disappearing sidewalk alphabet
shrugging opprobrious moments
enjoying vertical alignment
re-entering cyberpunk paradise
approaching island sun
soaring beyond monoliths
trivializing extraneous argy-bargy
decreasing character limits
dumping generic accounts
uglifying commit message
escaping into idiosyncracy
moonshining great lake
exuding idiosyncratic propaganda
living nineties' dreams
making occidental cuisine
envisioning idiocratic president
expropriating your time
ascending homely helix
singing fat lady
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
Drinking a Guinness Extra, an empty gesture,
Beset truly by the words of Joyce,
I am sick of the turning from text
To annotation. I wish only to read
A text as it was meant,
With the knowledge not aside
But present already in my blasted skull
It's like the modern appreciation of Shakespeare
—At best an approximation. The words that were
Common, fallen out of usage.
The words then invented, now commonplace.
Thither and hither again I will look
Tracking the details
Researching the clever allusion
Trying not to miss & missing anon
what's right in front of me
D.B. Guy
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 3:07 AM UTC
I’m sleeping in
just call me out
it’s the simplest kind of comfort
I do it for me
there’s a softness and care
my, that got so wholesome
I know, I should embrace hardship
adversity builds resilience
it’s darkness that reveals the stars
that last one sounds too good to be original
but I’m not researching it
haven’t you been reading?
I’m sleeping in fugaciously
and metaphorically.
If you’re in the water
it’s good to swim
otherwise
you could be writing.
.
.
Songs for this:
Sleeping In by The Radio Dept.
Save the Phenomenon by Fievel Is Glauque
Oct 21, 2024
Oct 21, 2024 at 6:58 AM UTC
I've been falling asleep in the back of the bar lately & I am not sure which way is up and which way is down.
"He" leads me down the stairs to the parking lot and rips my dress off me like its ***** laundry... But who he is... I don't even know.
It's been long enough for me to move on and get over you but there's something in the way the light shines against my hands that makes my heart ache.
You aged like wine and I aged like moldy cheese but we never found the perfect combination to keep us together.
I've been falling asleep in bars... And the bartender told me I can't come back anymore.
"He" took me home... But where that is.... I don't even know.
I don't think we were meant to end quite yet but you took two steps back with each one of my steps forward. I leapt before I could even crawl let alone walk.
You are still perfectly unhappy and I'm still researching the meaning of life... And even though part of me doesn't want you back... The other part of me still wants one last kiss.
I've been falling asleep in bars since i returned back west & I don't know if I'm just exhausted or miserable these days... But man... I hate beer.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
she won't say a single accursed word to me, those angelic lips won't even curse me out. I think I'm upset but ?? it doesn't really matter. I've still got her black lace ******* hidden away in my second place in the 800 meter relay trophy: metaprize. they still smell like she tasted; I still know that she was fantastically insecure about her gorgeous ***** so much that she spent the majority of her summer researching labioplasty under the guise of a newfound interest in cosmetic surgery: her parents would never understand. I still know she takes deserved pride in how her deltoids flex beautifully in her mirrored closet doors with her hands on a boy's chest, not mine any longer but that's okay, as she rides him not like a cowgirl but like a demanding coach, like a kid freed from training wheels, like the Hell's Angel of epifemme *** I still know she's the best thing that ever happened to me and I still know that I ****** it up. I still know I loved her and I still know I love her. I still know.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:12 AM UTC
Reading and researching about fiction and facts.
You try to clear up our racist past.
When a black walked into a eating establishment to eat.
You ponder and wonder about those racists wrath.
What about the skin of a person that makes fools reacts?
Or those that intimidated not stand up to wrong.
When we remain quiet we gives stupidity a home.
Then you ponder and wonder about the bigots.
Maybe, they wasn't afraid of the blacks.
But afraid of their own.
Many racists don't truly have a happy home.
When a Latino illegally or legally comes to America.
Who really believes they taking anyone job?
Many are working hard at jobs that hard working Americans avoid.
We must address our inner self.
For within our hearts lies an answer.
We all see things from a different view.
When judgment day comes.
And you must be held accountable before God.
And He ask you what wrong did you do?
Will you be truthful without offering an excuse?
Yes, you can reform your love for the people you hate.
But God requires us to do before we standing at the gate.
Cause, standing before Him now.
Just might be a little late.
But we are dealing with the human nature of the flesh.
And that alone create most of our trouble.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
Why do mechanics need manuals when they’ve fixed it before?
Answer my question or I’ll walk out the door!
Didn’t they attend trade schools or get O.J.T.?
Why need repair manuals? That what gets me.
I just want a mechanic who won’t refer to a book.
Just fix my car already, don’t give it a second look!
Why do pilots run checklists and reference their charts?
Just push the dang button and hope the plane starts!
Didn’t they go to flight school and pass all the tests?
Pilots fly most days, so who needs all that mess?
I want a pilot who knows without referencing a chart.
Just get on with the flying and prove that you’re smart!
What about the doctors who are practicing still?
Why can’t they get it right? And that includes the bill!
They’re always researching new studies in journals
When time’s better spent attending patients’ internals.
I just want a Marcus Welby, Ben Casey or Kildare
Instead of keeping up to date, I just want them to care.
Why do lawyers review case studies and legal decisions?
Such antics in my book leave them open to derision.
All that studying in law school should have been enough.
After passing the bar they should already know their stuff.
I just want an attorney who’s a know-it-all ace,
Not a book worm mouthpiece to plead my case.
Finally, the poets, being wordsmiths their art
You won’t see them referencing a checklist or chart
But look, in their hands, just what can that be?
A dictionary? Thesaurus? Are those what I see?
A real poet never needs help reading Shakespeare or Keats
Using Webster and Roget would make all of us cheats!
If a poet is real, the words should just flow
I think that all poets should automatically know
The right words to use, and literary crutches forgo
How dare they try better vocabulary to hone
They should come up with good things to say on their own.
I’m looking for poets who’ll just know what to say
Like Lewis Carroll’s poems in his heyday:
“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogroves, And the mome raths outgrabe.”
Don’t bother looking up his words, for that would be a dumb thing.
Using a dictionary or thesaurus, you might actually learn something!
Oct 26, 2019
Oct 26, 2019 at 10:20 PM UTC
I was doing research in Hubei
Where they executed Yu,
That deity soldier glorified
By Buddhists, Taoists too,
I sat perusing manuscripts
That dated from the Ming,
And came across a reference
About Yu’s finger ring.
A ring of gold so broad that it
Would fit a peasant’s wrist,
For Guan Yu was a mighty man
His ring, an amethyst,
Set round with groups of diamonds
It was lost the day, they said,
That Sun Quan had ordered them
To lop off Guan Yu’s head.
They lost it for a thousand years
It turned up with the Ming,
Was lost again in battle with
That mighty force, the Qing,
I’d heard it round the market place
A whisper, now and then,
That ring, it might have surfaced
In the village of Maicheng.
I scoured the streets and alleyways
For signs of old antiques,
Researching as I went, I walked
Around the town for weeks,
I found a backstreet corner shop
One night, and open late,
Run by a dodgy Chinaman
A total reprobate.
He had links to the Triads, they
Would come into the shop,
A shifty group of gangsters with
Their stolen goods to pop,
From where I sat with manuscripts
Up on the second floor,
I’d look straight down the staircase
Watch them come in through the door.
One day they brought in a bundle
Tied up in a burlap sack,
Threw it down on the counter, said:
‘What do you make of that?’
Fang Zhang then opened the parcel and
He pulled out a giant hand,
The flesh the texture of leather with
A monstrous golden band.
The ring was almost immoveable
The hand, with fingers spread,
Could grasp a maiden around the waist
Or crush a warrior’s head,
I held my breath as the Triad tried
To disengage the thing,
And all the while the diamonds flashed
On that massive golden ring.
Fang Zhang paid over a block of notes
That looked more like a brick,
There must have been a million Yuan
From what I saw of it,
The Triad left and I caught my breath
Fang Zhang had pulled it off,
He threw the hand in a ******* bin
And then I left the shop.
He hid the ring as I walked on through
I had to get some air,
I’d caught a glimpse of a famous ring,
A thing I couldn’t share,
They’d say it didn’t exist, that I
Was dreaming, if I tried,
They thought that it had been lost to view
The day that Yu had died.
I went back down the following day
The Police were there in force,
They stood out front and barred the way
From normal ***********
They told me through an interpreter
Of the ****** of Fang Zhang,
His face was black, for around his neck
Was a massive, ringless hand!
David Lewis Paget
(Pronunciation: Guan Yu - Gwon you
Hubei - Who - bay; Sun Quan - Sun Chu-arn
Qing - Ching; Maicheng - My - cheng
Fang Zhang - Fang Shjang (soft J))
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC
I can’t wait
for stressful planning
and credit charges
for emptied drawers
and stacked luggage by the door
I can’t wait
for communication hardships
and endless researching
for early exhausted mornings
and lethargic confusion
I can’t wait
for belonging searches
and metal detectors
double checking my facts
and momentary panic that i messed up
.....
...
I can’t wait
for airplane seats
and window views
long tiring flights
and transfers in unknown territory
I can’t wait
for screeching plane tires
and strange new air
feet planted on foreign ground
doe-eyed awed
and misspoken anxiety
I can’t wait
for looks directed at me
cautious wonder of the one who’s not native
meeting new people
stumbling over rehearsed words
i don’t know if i’m saying it right
I can’t wait
for new apartment doors
and an unknown bed
thriving in the heart of
the place i wished to see
for several years now
where my dreams took root
and blossomed erratically
I can’t wait
for late night calls to family
i miss you from little sisters
backwards sleeping schedules
but finding my way just fine
I can’t wait for all of this
it couldn’t come any sooner
But most of all
I can’t wait to say
I finally made it
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
Aging Poetry Well (proving the valor of writing poetry)
no more write, post, establish
to your immediate satisfaction,
what you are
what you think
is an amazing piece of
just you,
plus+comprehending
the world needs it, you,
ASAP!
needy for the
cosplay contemporaneous sharing,
curse of our
instantaneous time
from now on
deep down, gonna let it
casket age,
let memory
of the intensity
rust sufficiently to
get some time~plied
rusted accurate actualized
perspective
maybe trash it,
maybe tinker and
spot-check edit,
but if it is going
to stand
time testing,
let it pass a
first Herculean
examination of
fire and forget,
returning later
to collect it,
the wounded
that,
refusing to die,
thus proving proof,
the valor of
red badged courage of
writing poetry
is it worthy long after
the internal commotion
has passed,
just like
an ordinary
but very first
"I love you"
forming and reforming
then blurted in
a wunderkind awkwardness,
that can't be
taken back,
well, *** and all that
put me aside,
could be weeks,
months,
researching
the thing I love most,
waiting for the day I
need it worse,
a lot less,
so I can
do it better
maybe even go back
look up them
odd old folks,
written in
longing ago high passion,
and come at them
differently
or wistfully,
not
and like me,
age
for better
or
for worse
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
Examining the accuracy.
Exploring the brightness.
Hunting for certainty.
Inquiring the directness.
Inspecting the lucidity.
Investigating the precision.
Pursuing purity.
On a quest for simplicity.
Researching transparency.
Chasing articulateness.
Frisking comprehensibility.
Going over conspicuousness.
Inquesting a definition.
Rummaging for distinctness.
Scrutinizing the evidence.
Shaking down the exactitude.
On an expedition for explicitness.
Working the legs towards intelligibility.
A perquisition for legibility.
A wild-goose chase for limpidity.
A witch hunt for obviousness.
Interrogating openness.
Probing the palpability.
Prosecuting the penetrability.
Racing perceptibility.
Raiding perspicuity.
Coursing the plainness.
Following the prominence.
Hounding the salience.
Meddling in the tangibility.
Prying into the unambiguity.
Reconnaissance in the cognizability.
Seeking decipherability.
Snooping for explicability.
Sporting limpidness.
On a steeplechase for manifestness.
Studying the overness.
Tracing unmistakability.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 10:14 PM UTC
I don't know what to write today
Nothing was different so I have nothing to say
I nearly fell asleep in lesson, what does that teach?
maths lectures are boring, I don't want to hear someone preach.
We may have a band name as original as it sounds!
It's a generic name for a band yet to be found.
Science had less stories without my friend next to me
no catchup about the weekend and who we got to meet.
English was just researching any topic of my choice
I chose 'nationalism is bad' to make a speach, so people have to hear my voice.
In history was the usual ****
the teacher talks we write and watch a video clip.
So today was just a boring day
I just hope tomorrow is less grey.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
a morning conversation
brought for those
of agnostic or atheist
doubting persuasion..
an exploration of
stone tablet verses
so to experience
some secular
everyday difference..
objections were tabled
citing limitations
much is left out..
that negative tone
we all know so well..
those shalt-nots
seem to prevail
in eight of the ten..
modern science
quite lately has
offered assistance..
producing a map
researching the brain..
two sides observed
left analytical with
edges restricting
joined by right
expansive and present
just out of sight..
left and right
interfacing
pulsating
might we say dancing..?
then to the tablets
with map in hand
left still speaks forthright..
but then a surprise
right is right there
in front of our eyes..
look once again
first in the listing
and once more
see number four..
now we rely on our
newfound map
remembering the dance
those leftward shalt-nots
might others be named..?
each one is dancing
with a partner
one clearly not seen...
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 11:29 PM UTC
Acid in my eyes
Writing, reading, researching
Leaf in vast ocean
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 6:07 PM UTC
How to approach something so intangible, with little cellular to describe to my nerves
How to make verbal something so emotional, based on psychology and civil construction
How to perceive myself appropriately despite the eroding drips that pierce progress and old photos I cling to with such immaturity
These questions all are for the same goal, that progression of the self, all those substantial, cerebral, sensual and societal realisations that I yearn for
And yet... I sit, making delusional dreams come true in screens, I sit, making deep intellectual arguments for causes that aren't my own, I sit, researching complicated **** ups and ****** withs the powerful inflict in their attempts to balance a system born broken and biased
Screens are our new ****** it seems, as we reject religion our screens let us forget that the world continues around us, or encourage us not to care
And I come to this self consciousness, this ironic hypocritical reprehension
Because I really enjoy what all these creative minds and years of work and beauteous ideas have given me, but with the same hypocritical tone, despise my compulsion to stare into pixels
As I indulge this self awareness, I know I will continue with the same mental obesity of consumption tomorrow
And there will be no hypocritical self evaluation, just self involved enjoyment
Until the moments come when I am left alone with my mind
Self conscious, reflective, feeling as the time has been lost, but my mind is too tranquilised with pixel and poster representations of reality to notice
This won't change but...
Maybe if I take some time to turn pages rather than press buttons, and stare at sunsets rather than screens
That self evaluative journey I've ignored and returned to sporadically in the reflective yet warm darkness would be less intimidating
And if nothing else, on those days where reality lies next to me filling my cerebral stomach with the undeniably existential
I might feel a bit better about those days lost to other people's stories
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
A hapless Lit student named Brandon,
Was researching Death of a Salesman;
He Googled then ogled
What Hap Loman called Strudel,
Then choked on his oral exam.
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC