"rigidly" poems
Side by side, their faces blurred,
The earl and countess lie in stone,
Their proper habits vaguely shown
As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,
And that faint hint of the absurd -
The little dogs under their feet.
Such plainness of the pre-baroque
Hardly involves the eye, until
It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still
Clasped empty in the other; and
One sees, with a sharp tender shock,
His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.
They would not think to lie so long.
Such faithfulness in effigy
Was just a detail friends would see:
A sculptor's sweet commissioned grace
Thrown off in helping to prolong
The Latin names around the base.
They would no guess how early in
Their supine stationary voyage
The air would change to soundless damage,
Turn the old tenantry away;
How soon succeeding eyes begin
To look, not read. Rigidly they
Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths
Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light
Each summer thronged the grass. A bright
Litter of birdcalls strewed the same
Bone-littered ground. And up the paths
The endless altered people came,
Washing at their identity.
Now, helpless in the hollow of
An unarmorial age, a trough
Of smoke in slow suspended skeins
Above their scrap of history,
Only an attitude remains:
Time has transfigures them into
Untruth. The stone fidelity
They hardly meant has come to be
Their final blazon, and to prove
Our almost-instinct almost true:
What will survive of us is love.
8.8k
As one chosen by God, certain attributes
are demonstrated with loving regularity;
despite one’s beliefs, showing kindness
requires a daring of spiritual temerity.
For The Lord expects His children to give
Love towards people without expectations;
know that being tenderhearted, helps one
to naturally extend actions of compassion.
Don’t think lightly, about the richness
of kindness, it may one lead to repentance;
its warm embrace softens the heart, while
Salvation overrides Death’s life sentence.
The merit of kindness can’t be overstated;
being accepting, forgiving without judgment
means not rigidly imposing beliefs on others.
As His children, one should make investments
in the individualized development of others.
With the “Fruit of The Holy Spirit”, growth
and maturation can be properly accelerated
when applying by the principle of God’s oath
to “humbly walk in Love” (as He requires).
Kindness is patient, when paired with respect,
justice, long-suffering and unconditional Love;
the value of kindness, no one should neglect.
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Eph 4:32; Gal 5:22-23; Heb 6:10; Rom 2:4;
Luke 6:35; Col 3:12; Prov 3:3; Mica 6:8
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
You get the know it alls
Their noses stuck rigidly in books like bookmarks
You get the geeks
Gamers with eyes shrunk; shiny braces flashing
You get the quiet ones
Assessing everything going on; owlish blinks
You get the cheeky ones
Hilarious antics all around; always surprising
You get the nosy ones
With obnoxious questions and averting eyes
You get the prissy neat freaks
Panicking religiously over messes; loud moaner
You get the bossy buck tooth's
Spit spraying whilst barking out orders; drone-like
You get the wannabes
*Prepping up as the popular chicks; total **** ups*
And you get me
With total judgement and disdain evident
Making me a **classic ***** ; plastic
With her typical high school stereotypes
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC
Breeze bellows,
leaves echo in
quivering psithurism,
dithering like
unbroken smoke,
this approaching omen goads.
Dozing crows
slumbering in rows,
droves of locusts'
silenced drone,
almost comatose in repose;
nighttime overtones
choir of toads'
raspy croaks
answered by alto
of crickets' orchestral strokes.
Gust encroaches;
robed boughs
cloven open,
bring into
scope and focus
me juxtaposed,
suspended apropos.
Although motionless
and petrified in stone,
provoked by zephyr
coaxing to and fro;
swaying pendulous
and no longer frozen,
locus gently thrown.
Death rattle moan
evoked from throat,
reflex can't say no
to rigor rigidly posed,
final sigh in silence,
awoken vocal,
expelled and disposed.
Smote by
morose emotion,
gun loaded then exploded
by neurosis,
now bloated
necrosis decomposes
into gross ochre.
This trophy
and this ode
both an opus to
my inability to cope;
romanced i proposed,
eloped and betrothed to
my own
inappropriate composure.
Pocket full of posies
plucked when luck bestowed
and tears in a cup, a toast;
crying copiously,
tempest runneth overflowed,
eyes swollen and soaked.
Dipped my toes
in the coast
of this ocean's
amorphous folds,
gripped by undertow
holding control of my soul;
swiftly shipwrecked in
shallow shoal,
an old atoll.
On sandy floor,
water burrows roads;
digging, carving, roams
through unmarrowed
silica and sandstone
eroding into a cove.
A host for
opal geode trove,
enclosing a
technicolor rose,
from the depths
a glowing mosaic shone
Unopened lotus floats
on foam
of lapping waves,
a boat;
prone to no
grandiose notion
or motive,
adrift as wind stokes.
I suppose
this only shows
the total corrosion
into which I dove,
the only foes to oppose
are those of burdens, so
only weightless can I atone-
I must let go.
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 11:02 AM UTC
whispers the stubbly face of the old grandpa,
or I'll blow fierce little airs all over your rigidly
pretending-to-be-asleeping cute little facey,
then tickle your kissable little
lips
and make farty noises
for the rest of the day
she, irresistibly, bursts out laughing
like the roaring lioness she be,
whose cubs might be threatened,
and laughingly squeals, oh poppy!
it's all your fault, you grumpy old poet,
you made me put the *** in my
peej's!
and how his son,
the father,
on permanent overwatch,
growls below annoyingly,
"great,
now we'll be late,"
and
threatens to tell the
attractive single second grade teacher,
upon whom
he has a semi-secret crushing,
to which
we two devils scream out,
"oh please, oh please"
knowing she will find it quite
charming, and maybe even him,
tooing,
the single attractive father-man
who, could be ripe for a
twoing
><
and poppy twinkles,
thinking that no
matter what you
call it,
that thing,
is all-around and
in~between us while
he changes the young lady's
sheeting
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 2:31 PM UTC
Never trust a Florida boy,
In that muggy, humid heat.
I'm telling you, little girl,
Your heart will soon taste defeat.
Them deep fried southern marshes,
Raising mosquitoes and deceit.
The greatest place on earth can keep its ************* receipt.
The air as thick as my blood was,
When I met your eyes.
And yours met hers,
And your monster claw,
Tore her smooth skinned thigh.
I felt that painful scream.
Boiling up. Melting my chest inside.
What's the point of being still while my mind is feeling fried?
So I packed my heavy load of anxiety,
And headed for the coast.
I watched the orange sunset,
As I brought up a salty toast,
From my eyes.
Solemnly, spilling into the sea.
And I felt the spirit of an old friend.
Leaning rigidly against me.
So I turned on heel and didn't speak a sound.
As I turned to leave the now known ghost town.
And I gave one last grim look back out at the sea.
As I write these tattered goodbyes,
To where my feet have rambled me,
And I let my tongue wrap around the ribbons of goodbye,
Escaping my parched lips.
And I shutter as I listen to the sound of my heart as it rips,
An angered storm of sea,
Flooding down my eyes.
Knowing this is where the memories of escapades in our days, lays down and dies.
I feel the faint.
Bleak pain, blanketing us,
Weak and weary.
And I know our story has a melancholy mood of dreary.
And this is where I end it.
And cast it all out to sea.
And I leave the tragic bays of what I once called Rosemary.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
She sat on the edge,
quietly waiting,
for the sun to rise,
and chase away the darkness.
She looked to the east,
calmly calculating,
the amount of time,
till she hears birds sing.
She saw a glimpse of light,
slowly brightening,
with every single second,
the world held its breath.
She watched the light grow,
beautifully round,
and it rose above the hill,
not seeming to stop.
She felt the kind heat,
quietly warming,
her tired body,
till she felt alive again.
She knew why she was here,
calmly understanding,
that fate brought her,
and she could change that.
She sat on the edge,
tensely waiting,
she got up rigidly,
this will not be her last sunrise.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
I think the subject which will be of most importance politically is Mass Psychology... Its importance has been enormously increased by the growth of modern methods of propaganda. Although this science will be diligently studied, it will be rigidly confined to the governing class. The populace will not be allowed to know how its convictions are generated.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
I examine your mugshot
in the domestic abuse records
of Palm Beach County.
I find your eyes bloodshot,
red veins bulging with realization.
Your forehead branded with the lineage
of your rabid male ancestry,
now another criminal, wife beater,
another deadbeat drunk slithering
through the dialogue of strangers who now
know your name but will never see you
face to face, perhaps a potential employer
or candidate for your new wife.
The reputation you crafted
so rigidly, tarnished in your naked expression,
the cyanide of your psychosis
summoned with the smack
of a camera flash.
And I cannot help
but break a smile.
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 11:26 AM UTC
Walking through a forest,
I saw something shine.
A man made of tin,
Hidden in leaves and vines.
I brushed off the soil,
And tore through the leaves.
Sat him up against a trunk,
And his body of metal gleamed.
Cogs whirred and lights flashed,
As he stood and shook.
He began to walk rigidly,
At me he looked.
We walked through firs,
Past rivers and trails.
He took my hand yet,
He felt so frail.
His body started to creak,
As rain drizzled down.
Rust began to form,
And his life-force began to drown.
He stopped near the water
And fell to the floor.
His tin loud in the clearing,
I’d heard that sound before.
His lights began to flicker,
His cogs slowed to a tick.
I sat and watched him,
Tears sprang as I blinked.
The clearing went quiet,
The water made no din.
My robot friend had ceased,
Our friendship was never to begin.
I walked out of the forest,
Knowing he’d stay.
Man of tin has no heart,
Just cogs, lights, and metal of grey.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
A sneaky glance here, a forbidden love ignited
Your stamina driven by a fire un-blighted.
Our limbs lock, intertwine like puzzle pieces
Our chests pressed together, hands loosening breeches.
I can feel you under my skin
Ebbing and flowing to my whim
And your hair feels like the stars I’ve longed to touch.
Your eyes are closed, no dreams are here
We’re breathing in the here and now
I never thought I’d want someone so much.
Your grip makes me feel safe
My arms can’t let you go.
My hairs stand rigidly, at a pace
We’re putting on a desire rid show.
I can feel nothing but fingers and skin
Exploring and groping to whim
And your hair feels like the stars I’ve longed to touch.
Your eyes are closed, no dreams are here
We’re breathing in the here and now
I never thought I’d want someone so much.
You leave me breathless and gasping
My fantasy fulfilled, and rasping
Your sweat is sweeter than water
Our limbs never falter
I can feel nothing but fingers and skin
Exploring and groping to whim
And your hair feels like the stars I’ve longed to touch.
Your eyes are closed, no dreams are here
We’re breathing in the here and now
I never thought I’d want someone so much.
Boys can be boys, but not you and I
We go far back to the very first time
That you wanted me and I craved you;
This wasn’t merely a *****
5th August 2016
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 6:01 AM UTC
they stuff "yes, no matter what" / "you're always wrong" / "what will people say?" / into a flimsy puppet skin / rigidly moving the strings in one direction / whenever someone comes over / they mount the puppet on the wall / proudly showing off their prized creation.
but when their eyes come to a close / the puppet feels scorching strings on its shoulders / it reaches inside / gutted by what it sees / one by one / it examines each phrase / it takes everything out / replaces it with "no" / "I am not always wrong or right" / "what do I say?" / and slowly snips the strings off its shoulders / so it can walk freely.
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 9:22 PM UTC
Allow yourself my darling,
To take my hand gleefully,
As we dance while skating,
Watch each other lovingly,
Immersed in love we gaze,
Never forgetting to breathe,
Skates piercing through ice,
Oh the heart shaped carving,
It becomes more pronounced,
And we know it will fade away.
But this love we'll feel together,
Always, forever & forevermore,
You just long for my embrace,
Trust me dear because so do I,
I am you & even you are me,
Staying rigidly in each other,
Because it is but of course we,
Both these worlds are warned,
We are not going to stay apart,
We break all the societal walls.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 7:54 AM UTC
Breathe.
Breathe deep,
and in between
those breaths
bring back
banished beliefs
buried beneath
beyond
broken bonds
and
burnt bliss.
Embers.
Embers everywhere
of emotions
expecting
Elysium’s
elusive embrace.
Roses.
Roses scattering
restlessly;
rarely receiving
reprieve;
reminiscing;
ruing
reproachful ravens
resting
rigidly;
rabidly reaping,
rending
rotten remains,
resenting rainfall
refusing remorse.
Nostalgia.
Nostalgia underneath
neon nightlights;
noticing
nubs,
noises,
nuances;
neither neglecting
nameless
nonbelievers,
nor nurturing
narrow-sighted
naiveté.
Asleep.
Asleep amidst
fleeting azaleas
acknowledging
an abandon
amplifying
already
almighty
affection;
almost
altering
ancient,
ardent,
adamant
air
as an
ageless art.
Loss.
Loss overpowering;
lost love,
lingering longing,
lasting laments.
Lachrymose lovers
left layers
of a
limited life
within
long-forgotten lore;
lest labeled
Loveless;
left
little
longer
living.
Yearning.
Yearning for
the warmth
of home.
Yesterday,
You
were
yelling
‘YES’
at the top
of your lungs,
and
it
was
enough.
Yet
Yggdrasil
yielded
yew
for years
and years;
young,
yellow yeggs
yanked asunder
Yin
from Yang
into the
ever yonder.
Night-time.
Night-time symphonies
nullify
nothingness;
nourishing
Nyx Nightmother’s
need
of newfound
night-thinkers;
napping
nonchalantly
now,
near,
and nevermore.
~D.C.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC
It is noontime, Senlin says. The sky is brilliant
Above a green and dreaming hill.
I lay my trowel down. The pool is cloudless,
The grass, the wall, the peach-tree, all are still.
It appears to me that I am one with these:
A hill, upon whose back are a wall and trees.
It is noontime: all seems still
Upon this green and flowering hill.
Yet suddenly out of nowhere in the sky,
A cloud comes whirling, and flings
A lazily coiled vortex of shade on the hill.
It crosses the hill, and a bird in the peach-tree sings.
Amazing! Is there a change?
The hill seems somehow strange.
It is noontime. And in the tree
The leaves are delicately disturbed
Where the bird descends invisibly.
It is noontime. And in the pool
The sky is blue and cool.
Yet suddenly out of nowhere,
Something flings itself at the hill,
Tears with claws at the earth,
Lunges and hisses and softly recoils,
Crashing against the green.
The peach-tree braces itself, the pool is frightened,
The grass-blades quiver, the bird is still;
The wall silently struggles against the sunlight;
A terror stiffens the hill.
The trees turn rigidly, to face
Something that circles with slow pace:
The blue pool seems to shrink
From something that slides above its brink.
What struggle is this, ferocious and still--
What war in sunlight on this hill?
What is it creeping to dart
Like a knife-blade at my heart?
It is noontime, Senlin says, and all is tranquil:
The brilliant sky burns over a greenbright earth.
The peach-tree dreams in the sun, the wall is contented.
A bird in the peach-leaves, moving from sun to shadow,
Phrases again his unremembering mirth,
His lazily beautiful, foolish, mechanical mirth.
1.5k
Gender is not a tangible object
It is not something concrete
Which can be held like a hand
Or felt between your fingers
So why do we give it such
Hard edges and boundaries?
Aren’t the things we imagine
Meant to be limitless?
If in our minds we can fly
Or have infinite money
Then why is gender
Some moronic made-up concept
To go along with our genitals
So rigidly defined?
My biological *** may be connected to my junk
But my gender is not
It is not there for doctors to examine
For its’ health or girth
You cannot unzip my pants
Or the thoughts in my mind
To find my gender
Get that through your ******* head
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
is seemed the only reasonable option.
i wanted to crawl out of my skin
crawl out of my mind
and even the solace of
a sleeping unconscious
rigidly refuses my pleas
defies me
like everything and everyone else.
hot water
candlelight
the aroma and feel
of lavender and eucalyptus oil
only pull me deeper
into sorrow and despair.
i. can't. do. this.
what next?
i already tried white russians
a sleeping pill
allergy medication
"the privilege of the sword"
i tried thinking hard
and not thinking at all
i try to steel myself again life
become hard
uncaring
i try not to give a ****
but it's all pathetic attempts
to go against my nature.
my nature dictates i cry
that i thrash against this
that i reach out again and again
that i make an utter fool of myself.
i opened the window...maybe the air will help
(it won't.)
i'll put on music to soothe me
(it will do the opposite.)
i will disrobe
slather lotion on myself
i'll climb into my bed
with my stupid purple hair
and cry into my blankets
while sad music plays.
eventually you will find me asleep
among twisted blankets and tears
likely clutching a pillow
for dear life.
i will awake to find
nothing has changed
and use all my strength
to get out of bed.
i'll force myself back
to my desperate searching.
i'll vow not to make a fool of myself this day
and fail.
i will push my pounding heart back
so that it is just a whisper
and just face that fact
that life b l o w s.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 4:26 AM UTC
Well, my fault, your fault, their fault, his fault, her fault
The fault line runs through us all
Rubbing off here and there, shattering the unshattered
Creating curved corners, wobbly lines, pointing toward
Leaning posts for us to ponder, procrastinate...
Perhaps cocking a leg to listen and learn
Or be bullied down the chorus of blame
Well....if they hadn't done that....
Or if I'd just said or done that.....
Would things have been different?
The edges neat and tidy...
To see what's coming round all the corners
The unshattered, negating seven years bad luck
So keep the straight and narrow
Refuse to open the boxes and look into the unlooked
'Control' will be your friend, sticking rigidly by you side
But what about the alt...alternative...the delete....acceptance???
Will your blindfold mar your pathway to living
Missing the signpost at the fork in the road.....
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 8:14 AM UTC
I grabbed her by the waist in the disco-ball light
And said that we didn’t have to stay here and dance if she had any better ideas.
Everyone smelled like liquor,
Vultures circled in masquerade frowns to listen in on our plotting,
To drag our way out of the party
Toward somewhere more secluded.
But the alone time we made for ourselves was just that,
Alone in the most quiet and heartbreaking ways
That could only ever materialize when you’ve communicated perfectly with someone
By a complete accident of circumstance.
And the balancing act of the words you’ve placed rigidly inside of hers begin to unravel
Beneath the weight of all the questions you ignored to ask.
Aug 24, 2022
Aug 24, 2022 at 2:58 AM UTC
this poised indelible knot)
(of untranslucent lodging rock
that mets so eagerly
a
n
d
shorns the tousled bed of sky
a circlet of watching cobalt
supreme and rigidly manicured
wi
th
the stormy lips of god
they(who;are,a,marvelous’girded.fauld:of gray)
speak
with whitish freezing voice
to say upon the noble cap
this organized heap
of lean sinuous
stone
their icy tongue
which laps the bare skull
of the untremulous mountain
irrevocably spouting on the horizon
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 10:05 AM UTC
I have no strength when I see this woman
The way her finger brushes her lips,
The way she lowers it among the pages
Scattering their words within the grass
Like a swan its wings in the red and soft sun.
Don’t rush talking to her in birds’ tongue, I order myself
Nor sing to her a child’s prayer from the chestnut leave
Thus, in a gallop, over sheets of paper, the knight stretches his arm rigidly,
A snare to the innocent sparrow
With a frail finger she oppresses the lips of this poem,
And they are enjoying the whipping of the purple hair
Which she threw, like the fisherman his trawl, ahead of the gallop.
I have no strength since she raised her eyes,
And their spear was released through my ribs
Towards the thicket of the lake,
Where the mud swallows the lines of a patched up boat.
(on the shore, the fish are throwing themselves, burned by this light and there they lay)
oh happy ones, for you found your pursuit in her path!
Alas myself, for there’s no strength in me to eat and to drink
When I see this woman and words are falling out of my mouth
Like some crumbs for the stray dogs
Like some flowers thrown on the water
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 9:57 AM UTC
its four-thirty-a-m and i've thought up some thoughts,
with the inspiring aid of too many shots.
and on what should my facebooking-eye soon alight,
but the dismal reminder that tonight is tonight?
oh, it seems it's your birthday, even while you snore,
and rigidly, it's your birthday, even though i'm poor,
and it remains your birthday (though i wish it wer'n't),
as there's no worse day for a birthday than current.
your birthday falls on a least halcyon of days,
a day like all days and undeserving of praise.
the only thing that july ever did well
was birthing my darling (from the depths of hell).
[and making me a versified cheater/
by ******* around with my lyrical meter]
alack, alas, i'm poor as ****
so i'll hand you these stanzas and that is it,
borne of the gods and holy writ,
my gift to you: my sparkling wit.
[essentially, i just promised an empty box/
but whatevs. you can **** all my figurative---]
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 1:36 AM UTC
I burned your sandwich today.
Just like your mom used to.
Except she was just bad at making sandwiches.
I wanted to ruin your day.
The phone bill, rigidly $99.95 a month
Has overage fees on it.
You’re making a lot of private calls
For your public service job.
I think someone’s been siphoning gas
While we sleep
Because I certainly didn’t use that much,
Honey.
I’m onto you.
But I’m not bitter
Not at all.
Sorry about the sandwich.
Have a nice day
with her.
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 2:34 AM UTC
There is not always stars.
The small I-do's we said that night,
We're not done
Under a blanket of moonlight.
We did not sit by a fire
Holding love in our bones,
Mending.
We did not walk on a beach,
Toes in the sand,
Love at first sight.
You did not pull me in and kiss me.
We didn't even say much.
But it was beauty,
The way you smiled at me when
I emerged in your doorway,
With a dollar store rose of apology.
The way you rigidly
Imperfectly hugged me.
In sticky sweet serenity.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 12:54 PM UTC
faces buried deep beneath the fluorescents just barely listening to the wires falling from their
brains with mundane expressions smeared instinctively across the ridges on their skulls and their hands
fiddling rigidly with the space between their thumbs and I wonder if they ever miss their
stops?
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC