"retrogression" poems
Hark verily my indignant venipuncture retrogression
Saudade anthropomorphic coveting empathic repression
Bask wholly in its self indulgent verbose serendipity
Happenstance to necromance enigmatic anonymity
Applied psychology catharsis my make believe aggression
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
within my own inflexibility My rigidity deteriorates me
circumstances are changing
these are potentials I’m afraid to correct
I become carried away when I identify with stimuli
I’m boundless I know no restraints
I’m extreme in reaction though I regret my severity
I’m alert to the patterns instincts fail for the need of harmony
I align, my emotions with awareness
an enchanted form of perfected grace
loyalty to doubt lack of power to concentrate
focus perceived illogically
spontaneously conceptualizing
determination leads to recognition in a position of influence
but only when recognized for being in the right place at the right time
the bitterness in rejection when overstimulating the mind
Even amongst the greatest of decadences
spirit warrior has no polarity
in nature of truth blessed this innocence maintained regardless
analysis of personal actions and effects
in an extreme state of self consciousness
self deluted irrational focus on what’s already passed
this inspiration that a rational concept can be established
lack to continue intelligence to endure
persistent re-evaluation
indecision in times of transformation
a deep and profound need to self express
materialism disrupts creativity at best
attracting loyalty as a gift
leadership sanctioned in times of crisis
a natural position of practicality avoiding conflict to keep security
alert to patterns of inferior elements
creates cooperation and results in management
the most successful action is powerful and extreme reaction
a boundless energy which ignores awareness
no restraint puts spirit at risk
balancing principals with energy leads to expansion
and properity
securing identity through careful consideration
opposing restrictions with determination
ignorance of innocence betrayed by action
when finding yourself in a negative position
the success of restraint lies not in abandonment
but caution expressed as a social experiment
instincts may fail for the need of Harmony
yes establish conditions for collective mastery
self deluted transformation reassed inspiration
to omit retrogression would be the sin of omission
to justify these time would be to mislead the mind
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
I've checked into a place
Much like this before
The furniture lined with restriction
Woven worries don the upholstery at the floor
It is a waiting room white as tight knuckle skin
Black diamonds adorn the door
There is a small zen garden
In the corner, on a table
Existing but for use as nothing
It contains no sand or rocks or rake
Delicate plant life around the room
But not a drop of soil at its base
A bowl of peppermints, but only for those with
An acquired taste
Familiarity takes a swig
Burns in the tummy
Of the hearth of the room
Only here does the fire stay cold
And only here is the news always old.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 8:34 PM UTC
So you Republicans hate Blacks, Jews, Latinos, Asians, yet so many of you go to your churches on Sundays and pray to God. About what? About what Jesus preached? About how he said to love one another? Hardly! You may mouth these sacred messages, but do you live them? I think not. VOTER SUPPRESSION is equivalent to heresy. Republican politicians across our nation, under God, in over 40 States are bringing back RACISM in full force. Are you not repulsed by this immoral retrogression? WHY DO YOU NOT SPEAK OUT!? My only conclusion is that you are gutless. You are moral hypocrites. You are racists of the first order and human beings of the last.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 12:49 PM UTC
I can only summon feelingfulness like the passing of a dove,
postponing its arrival mid-air, somewhere along the tucked
bramble across Poblacion, starting with metaphorical sensibility
or an insensibly bland space to procure wanted meaning.
Girls prefer roses and their bright foreheads diademed with more
flowers, and boys, their chiaroscuro or lack of a color thereof, seems
to be fitting in this maladroit contrast, and so I begin, as always,
with your very vague and caged memory. Your face, the whiteness
of snowcapped alps. Your strut, my slalom in a treacherous course
of words reduced to whisperings, to flutings. Your voice, though nuanced,
flitters with an overtone of arrogance: if sound was clothed, yours would
be flamboyant ermine. And the line in front of you before I, my arbitrary turn,
assimilates into a picturesque form of waiting somewhere in Cubao.
I wanted to smash myself with train-speed towards the metallic turnstile,
which, would then famish me even so, just as much as I wish to be a car crash
somewhere within the outskirts of your town, heavily vandalized by the swill
of squalor hefting itself like the rest of the world conscious of its viscera.
This is how I start you – like waiting for the sun to emerge by Borobudur,
or the clandestine *** of mildew and grass, a hundredfold of images appear
before me and I cannot choose upon my whims and caprices. Are you a dove?
A spear of Sun? A thunderous crackle of an impending rain? A harlequin?
A moseying cirrus? Or just another by-stander in the crowds where I ultimately
seek your being?
This answerlessness measures my knowledge of star, and my breath snuffed
out of me while I sigh from exhausted penchants, outweigh dissimilarities and symmetries.
A progeny from all superseding conundrums arises: are you a retrogression of a wave
back to its saltine wound, flailing in brine? Or are you just the vast sea and nothing else
on a fine and lucid day where children skip stones and chant name-callings?
I sense the peril in this undertaking, and much to my chagrin, I still
do not know how to end you.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:09 AM UTC
what death screeching and incomparable will possess our feral skies bursting fissured eyes in stygian oceans of sound
what hell pharaonic and incestuous will enwomb us pyrophorically screeching into the crepuscular welkin
plutus' now plutonian name is laid out before us in the amaranthine caverns of a conflagrant mind
a resignation to wallow in the acrimonious sea of the harsh torrent of life perpetually thrashing in retrogression through the stinging rain
as shadows splatter in atramentous mirth gaily dancing in the shimmering waters of a decrepit planet poisoning itself
an oasis of debauchery grotesque agony crying through its darkened halls that screams out for liberty
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
"The past, is simply that, the past. Needin only reminiscent conversation, thought, and it's memories to define it's now intangible existence. The future: the steadily approaching notion of an end. The future is inevitable, but all the whilst, malleable, which in turn gives us the human right and personal authority to freewill. Futures catalyst of persistence, makes it's malleability the fundamental aspect of progression or retrogression. The choice is there for the creating, but be warned. Once the future morphs into the now, the thoughtless actions or lack there of, in that passing moment when the future becomes reality then becomes the past, cannot be rewritten nor forgotten and directly impacts your future. Perspicaciousness and bein nonprecipitative are omnipotent when contemplating the future." - Me
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
looking at the world through rose colored lenses. I live a life not understood by many. I'm an old man in a young body so my geriatric ways aren't palpable to today's generation, so nobody feels me. wandering why love is absent in a sick world and love is the medicine. Complex and embedded in the soil of my people skin. we're not "dark" we're "deep". Prevalent roots will travel back to show we were here first. Banks will trace back to show we didn't get paid. My blueprint is made potent by blue blood from within. I challenge things not dared, see I'm an activist. Beliefs of retrogression saving the day. Blue blood is my blueprint, but now it's read because you see it. See I bleed passion. you can read when your tired if you understand then that means you derived from origins like me.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC
i could search for synonyms to lift my dejections
and disguise them as something more beautiful
and uplifting
a life lesson, a bump in the road
but it is simply
not simple
anymore
i am tired
exhausted
and i cannot save myself
or attempt to no longer
i am a lost cause
beyond remedy
beyond recovery
i have acknowledged
retrogression
and have no attempts left
for retaliation
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
I'm like the rocks we throw in the ocean
Down below away from the commotion
Steadily sinking deeper within the motion
The last person to touch you is long gone
and being at the bottom you may never be touched again but is that so wrong?
No more fear and no more guessing, trying to find the hidden meaning behind a blessin'
maybe its to learn a lesson while I could use a little decompression
these depths have got me going through retrogression
but what was I before i was too heavy to float?
All the words i wanted to say are stuck in my throat
and the only thing I can manage to say was "nice throw"
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 5:45 PM UTC
I was walking
Through the edges of night
Whispering my wishes
To the full moon in slight
Watching carefully the clouds waving
I asked them:
Could you please stop my heart raving?
My shadow
Freezing by my breathing
Take a step away,
I found a rose fallen on the street beatless
I asked it:
Could he be mine?
Oct 31, 2020
Oct 31, 2020 at 9:57 PM UTC
So I was thinking aloud I was thinking about
All the evil in the world
And I had my doubts
To an extent of losing words I don't know if that's allowed
I was thinking of Pandora
Sent by the gods to humankind, but failed to see the best of both worlds
Her disobedience laced curiosity unleashed a plethora
Of all kinds of evils, vices that no words
Can describe. And taught my feet
To follow in her footsteps
In the beginning there was perfection
In Zeus' higher
Domain.
Prometheus caused distortion, Stole fire In a bid to assist
Mankind
A gesture that Zeus would resist
And bestow a punishment of some kind
Eternal ******* with a rock
And sent an eagle to mock
And with its beak poke at his liver
Forever I am many steps behind this offender
But our boats are harboring in the same dock
Does it not tell the all too familiar story
Of retrogression, so inexplicable
Of evils that come before glory
Only to pave way for peace that is never reachable
I was imagining Atlantis
And how it must have been the epitome of perfection
The ultimate Utopian sensation
Only to disappear, something seems amiss.
Yet nonexistent is that eminence in the present
All dwelling in the ocean's depth, death so imminent
No more footsteps, no more hands Just faint footprints among the sands
Yes I was thinking of the reasons for all the unhappiness
That remains mystified,
All the heart breaks
That never seem to be justified,
The feelings of emptiness
That can't seem to be fulfilled,
And how the days of old reveal
What it was like in the ideal
Two halves conjoined
Separated because they challenged the gods
Failing to avoid
Eternal incompleteness against the odds
Who am I to wish for change
My foregangers never even gave me a chance
Speaking of change
It probably doesn't exist
Not then, not now
Like prisoners in a cave,
Plato tried to reason
All we see is a shadow
Of reality in and out of season
And when we do see the light
Let alone the enlightened. Blinded still
We may,we might,
We most certainly will
Fail to realize our ignorance
Fail and never see the glory days
We are forever losing our feet
Falling head first
Supposedly moving forward, but realizing the worst
We are steps behind, following in the footsteps of forerunners we'll never meet
Miss Fit
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 8:13 AM UTC