"satiation" poems
I was never looking into you
I was only pouring an image of myself onto your canvas
Of course I didn’t know
it was me looking into me
this was the mirage of my desire
always in the shape of a question mark
and you
a sweeping mystery
oozing something toeing the peculiar line between *** and titanium (cold, edgy, sharp - trembling
between pain and principle
like blazer and tie
or more like halfway-unbuttoned-shirt-and-slacks on-with-no-tie
(it was like you were making an effort!))
It was ***
but it also wasn’t ***
(I am empty
I am full)
I keep building up and up and up
all these images in my Mind
(which never shuts up)
(a never-ending narrative
She spins and spins and succumbs
only in those rare and passing circumstances)
constructing people like buildings
only the scaffolding is imaginary and when
the architecture folds in on itself
soulless
and my beloved figurines come toppling down on me
why do I still get so surprised
so stung
so lonely in that
hollow and distant way
(like your Mind is echoing
in on
Itself)?
My Mind is like quicksand
devouring streams of memory with ease
forever unsatisfied and craving more of the same
sharp edges and all
praying for a satiation in some distant future
She knows will never come
Only here
in this tiny universe
can I spell out anything resembling rationality
from the mess and junk and tangled tendrils of my Mind
Only here
can I extract bits and pieces of thoughts
and try to puzzle them together
until they make sense
until I can separate “Me” from “Reality"
And what doesn’t make sense
what I need to understand
is why I feel so beset
with this heavy magnetism that
overpowers me to the point of
paralysis
(with little to no room for breathing)
and why it was you
who pushed me into this feeling
and you
who is still pulling me along
far past the threshold of my resistance
and I am done
and it stings
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
practicing mental gymnastics
insipid memories
seeping their way past
defensive buffers
remembering repressed poisons
as a catalyst for making
wiser decisions
lackadaisical reactions to
sharply defined parallaxes
warrant an immediate shift
fractal spectacles
the labyrinth of my innards
inhale the cosmological smoke of suggestion
words become meaningless
when repeated exhaustively
semantic satiation
slicing away at true intentions
paving the way to
false inventiveness
shallow river beds are loud
prouder than their counterparts
insecurity overshadows
a lack of faith in the faint of heart
everything worthwhile
falls apart
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
brick by brick by brick by brick
semantic satiation
castles, majesty, and mighty
sinew segregation
whisper, water wearing down
the rock-wall and the nation
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 2:17 AM UTC
that’s all I know, title, subject undisclosed,
new morn amourning arrives, when writing~writhing
hunger, comes and remains till fufillment,
sometimes, nagging, sometimes roaring, completion is
the satiation satisfaction when the pouring/
spilling is from within to without, topping off
the nearest receptacle with hugger-muggery,
beauty jumbled, elegantly jagged linen creased
the it of it, must be done, so my heart un-seizes,
breathing to nearly next to normal, yet the distance there
incroyable, inch or mile, meter matters not, until closed it’s a
chasm rupturing,
fingers grasping my temples, to hold the
jumbled tumbling innards within, redirected towards my
screaming fingertips, hoping, relief will come sooner,
making room until the throat and lungs engorged,
when~with this selfsame need returns
on the morrow
if, when,
my eyes open,
and yesterday itself
is a writ,
a realization accomplished
~~~~~~~
perhaps, you recognize yourself?
perhaps, you reconcile yourself?
Sep 26, 2023
Sep 26, 2023 at 9:54 AM UTC
who deserted from other roses sweet smile
whether, red, white, orange and infinite
are always made in satiation
I / black rose
no dark mosaic: often drowned nature of struggle
sleeping at the time of red roses, white, yellow, blooming
wilted due to weak roots
i / black rose
the brooder
stuck like a rock
the meaning of the many colors of roses are:
broken into one / black
because, i / early black rose of colorful roses.
Idra, Tuesday, 2/11/13, wrote village, Bantul, Yogyakarta...
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC
Semantic satiation
is when you repeat
a word or phrase
so much that it loses
all sense of meaning
Grim Milestone
sounds like the protagonist
of a paperback thriller series
by Patterson
or one of his ghosts
Grim Milestone
sounds like the title
of a Goosebumps book
about a killer street
Grim Milestone
sounds like a gloomy rock
on a lonely corner
whose only purpose in life
is to tell people
they’re on the wrong path.
Grim Milestone
Grim Milestone
Grim Milestone
Grim Milestone
Grim Milestone
Grim Milestone
I keep thinking
that maybe, if I say enough
my heart will ache less at the words
when we pass the next one
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 3:46 PM UTC
I knew I was hungry,
But I didn't know satiation like you existed.
I was happy with what I was being served, before I'd tasted luxury.
You're corned beef hash across from a plain cheeseburger.
I've never had you before, but you're familiar.
I've searched for this flavor.
Now I've gotten a taste, I'm hungry again.
Don't let me starve.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
Can't I stay the ugly duckling?
Life is so much quieter in the shadows
I don't want to be admired anymore
Growing tired of things has grown tiring
And I don't want to be that kind of beautiful
Her shoes could fill with blood
And she'd still have somebody to please
How can you please people
By being against everything?
You lie to gain illumination
You starve yourself
In hopes of satiation
Can't I be the ugly duckling?
At least I'd get to eat
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
Ah, summer!
Summertime is ever my favourite, indeed;
with charms t'at are inadequate,
with promises not rich enough,
for my love is even wealthier t'an which!
Oh! But still, a summer garden
is a warming delight to my sights;
it is a living soul to me,
it pats my shoulder and smiles at me,
it sings to me and write me-
a delicate night-time lullaby!
Ah, so sweet and enigmatic
is our beloved summertime,
as it for ever always is;
With leaves t'at canst talk,
flowers t'at canst think,
and clever blossoms
that canst charm
and sway about so prettily
Back and forth,
Beneath and behind me;
O, and perhaps lips
t'at canst promise
Some surge of happiness;
Yes, happiness-vacant happiness,
Happiness t'at is our abode,
and for us only-to dwell in;
Though whose self is still beyond thought
and canst be delicately seen
only from a thousand miles away
from 'ere; o, dear happiness!
Wherefore be thou-come 'ere!
Come 'ere-o, light of my dim light,
fire of my shy fire!
Come 'ere, o dearest!
Flirt with and tease me;
touch and taunt me;
'Till I am but immersed
in thy evil charm, thy evil charm;
Whilst soaked in thy greedy eyes,
Consummate and make me whole,
delude and corrupt me,
but make me forget not
my very own intimate voice;
With a love that I want to kiss,
within a glory I should rejoice.
Stab and ****** me!
Make things blissful a tragedy;
but a glossy tragedy-as thy soul may be;
And be I, the happiest ghost in th' world;
roses are my tongue, lilies are my mouth;
cherries my breath, berries my death;
But on top of all, my dear,
Their blooms my satiation,
Frivolous, ye' stupendous as it is,
Ah, my salvation, health, and incarnation!
And comest to me once more;
Love me and care for me
Like never before;
just like I hath cared and be cared for,
make my feelings sure,
find a cure to my foul longing,
And be my sole angel of bliss
Like when I am lost again today;
Tend to me with thy singing so sweet-
As when I love; as I hath ever dreamed.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 6:44 AM UTC
***fell for you like amber raindrops
burnished by the sun's satiation,
golden in my heart you will remain
our love story as sinister storm clouds,
turning sapphire skies to bleak trickles
sank in drowning pools of our own undoing
baubles of lust dissipated on the horizon
yet, I still swim in you on dismal days...***
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC
I'd quench that thirst -
*evening satiation throbs in
my head, in my heart, in my* -
whenever you were thirsty.
I'd live without it -
*no shortcomings of vices in
the smoke, in the liquor, in the* -
unless only you instigate.
You keep on lying -
*can you let me escape the
thoughts, feelings, desire?*
- on that bed, those satin sheets.
Black lace and smoldering incense
cloud the hazy, lustful dreams
where the satisfied sighs, screams,
smiles were unforgettable.
I'm up in the sky and I can't
keep running away.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
I find innocuous corners in the unfathomable depths of humanity.
Then I weave a silken web of lies against the tapestries of fate.
The longer the web takes, the more fabulous its construction, peppered both with illusions and realities.
For the greatest illusion is the one most rooted in truth.
I have no need to chase; my patience is as consummate a force as any;
I wait for my prey to come to me on their own,
And then I ensnare them, injecting them with venom,
Rendering them unable to escape.
The web is an extension to my soul. To my spirit.
It is me, and my weapon.
Its substance is known to me.
My webs are lies mixed with truths, despair colored with hope.
They are a crawling infinity of colors,
An eternal tribute to orderly and savage chaos.
Each strand, which links me to my prey and my predators,
Each one resonates under the steps of the dancing mad god,
Vibrating and sending little echoes of bravery or cowardice,
Satiation or hunger,
Destruction or architecture,
Blabber or argument,
Each strand carries my reaction to everyone who is connected to me.
Every intention, interaction, motivation that I have been plagued with,
Every color, everybody, every action and reaction that I have endured,
Every piece of physical reality and the thoughts that it engendered,
Every connection made, every nuanced moment of history and potentiality,
Every possible thing that ever was, ever is and ever will be with regard to me,
Woven into that limitless, sprawling web.
It is without beginning or end.
It is complex to a degree that humbles the mind.
It is not a weapon.
It is a trap.
A trap, one to which I fall every single time.
Infinitely bitten, never shy.
I can renounce the world again.
I can turn away once more.
But it never lasts.
The web is too spread out.
There are other spiders on it,
Spiders, which have tethered me to this plane of reality,
With their own silken threads.
It is too late.
Too late to draw the strings close.
It is too late.
Too late to destroy my prison, too late to destroy my weapon.
Too late for everything.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
How many times
Can one say
I m s o r r y
before
I m s o r r y
becomes
I m s o r r y
nothing more than
I m s o r r y
individual letters
I m s o r r y
That hold no meaning?
Jan 11, 2012
Jan 11, 2012 at 3:30 PM UTC
fingers sink deep
while lips imprint
with tease
her aroma
discombobulates
enchantingly
leaving me awestruck
in beggary and I
weep with hunger
slowly mouthing my
need to embrace
her femininity
in satiation
of...
tasteful inebriation
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:54 PM UTC
I have been denied such honor to explore thy flesh. I long for the day that it shall be mine to cherish. Savoring every inch, savoring every scent.
I'll thank God adamantly for a gift such as this.
Once permitted, I shall lay thy sweet vessel upon thy pillow and ravish thy flesh until my hearts content.
Whispering sweet, wicked things in thine ear. No decent mortal being would ever want to hear.
Seizing thy body, as it is mine to clame.
Peeling away what stands between I and my domain.
Passion nearly lost, beholding what was underneath. So much desirability, you hid beneath.
Such seduction, such physique. Deny me this not for satiation you will reap.
Stand before me now. So I may admire thy beauty. Appreciation is yours for the taking.
Come to me my dearie. Allow me the honor to have thee.
Forcing your body to the wall. Muttering, I must have it all.
Without delay. I rest a kiss on thy divine lips. Soaking in your taste, ah such sweet bliss you possess.
Drawing you closer as I relish this moment. My temptation has won, finally bested.
As our passion heats, goosebumps do meet.
Your skin tingling, feeling your craved relief.
To late to cease. I must have this sweet, sweet release. Laying you down, preparing my feast...
My coming Honor.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
Meaningless is the introspection
of a solitary lover
with a succubus to impress
just to fail like all the rest.
Greedy are the handouts
of a body borne charity
satiation of the poor
without knowledge of her lore.
Osmosis to attention
she commands the lustful gaze
radiating an appetite unrivaled
a raging libido with no title.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
You know how you say a word,
Until it sounds as though it shouldn't exist?
The meaning has become blurred,
It can't possibly be real.
That is how I feel about love after all this time I've spent trying to figure it out.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 12:03 PM UTC
I found myself rooting for the tiny ant
The spider was trying to trap in its webbed snare,
No thoughts did I spare before swiping a finger,
and helping it make a dramatic escape
As I looked at the spider, left food-less,
Rearrange itself in its meticulous net,
I wondered at the strangeness of this
Little world of ours, and also its pointlessness
We make it seem so rosy and pretty,
Embellish it with garlands of emotions,
But underneath lies the truth of its existence,
Made up of cruelty, chaos and commotion
The Designer painted it beautifully,
But gave it finer embroideries of pain,
He threw in an entire cosmos together,
And arranged it into a food chain
Compartments and more compartments,
Of colour and country and gender galore,
Hustle and bustle to stay put in a labile balance,
That is forever tipped at the cusp of war
We fool ourselves with the sham that our lives
Depend on friendships and love and such stunts,
When what we are, if we think about it,
Is a part, of one gigantic hunt
A hunt for alimentation,
And monetary satisfaction,
And physical satiation,
Does being conditional deserve glorification?
I wonder if I've turned into a permanent cynic,
It may very well be just a phase,
Though the spider would be cursing me for sure,
Not too romantic it is, sabotaging a prey!
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
~~~
*bathed by breezes of southern gentility,
sun soaped by eye-prickling,
star twinkling glints,
shampooed in delicious waves
of white sno caps,
my crazy wild hair,
conditioned by the foaming bay's riffles
dappled waters transformed into a
Van Gogh glow of
The Sower
sprinkling golden seed
upon fields of summer wheat glorious
my little yellow rubber duckies,
are now blue white snow geese alive,
down from Nova Scotia,
where August is already
emboldened colden,
so they non-stop honk
tho mere passerbys,
everybody is seeking a place in history,
the surety,
that this poem,
by their inclusion herein,
promises posterity
the grass blades wave with
endless swaying applause,
at yet another attempt of poetic tribute,
for once more,
spell bound
by the bounty of the moment,
enslaved happily to the idea
there is no satiation possible
from the earthly satisfaction of this place,
this sheltered isle
the leaves are cappuccino frothy performers,
unison shaking just like a roman legion of stadium fans,
they offer me untold numbers of
likes and reads,
and other candied goodies,
promises endless to root for my winter dream teams,
if their presence is here
prominently included,
until they too
fall silent, grounded,
shed by their rightful owners
every time I think the well is dry,
swept under by a rip tide
of drowning overwhelming gratitude,
for here I come to a place.
a station for repair,
where poems are bandied about,
summer fruits ripe for plucking
sunroom lace, summer curtains,
will hide out here in my absence,
the lace, turns into snowflakes crystalline,
by icy waters and gusts,
that will be both
untrodden and unadmired
for when the poet is clad in the
damask drapes of winter's inevitability,
will close his eyes and
will hide out here,
right here,
in this one of his never ending
prior~poem~prayers homages,
until next year's
can't-come- too-early spring arrives,
sparked by tendrils of meeting markers,
noting that
new poems have been fallow fallen,
winter seeded,
awaiting your
watering and writing,
of the appreciation
of the
simple majesty
of this small corner of the earth*
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
Slow vibrations under the surface
Pulsating electric currents
Waiting satiation
Please say my name
Whisper it into my tangled curls
Promises on my neck
Sighing over me
I bite my lip
Just to pause
To enjoy you longer
Drink you in
Shed my exterior being
Immerge the real me
Your patient flower
Waiting for my sunshine pleasure
Raw hot chemistry
Ignite my skin into flames
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 6:43 PM UTC
Beep. Beep. The alarm, taking me out of bed.
I slowly, reluctantly raise my head.
My stupor is so great that I fear
Mona Lisa’s eyebrows would soon appear.
Oh Muse! Give me the strength to wake!
I cannot stand another minute drowning in this groggy state!
So my dear old desperate muse,
Drowning in his desperate blues,
Called on Zeus to set me free.
There came dear old wonderful Zeus,
And took some of his lightning juice,
And rained it down on me.
Oh! The pain and agony!
But it was the only thing that could set me free
From the unyielding grasp of sleep
Get up! I say!
It’s time to start your pitiful day!
I stumble to the floor,
Grasping desperately for the door,
Triumphant! The gods exclaim!
Your name shall be put up in the morning-risers hall of fame!
To the showers!
I go, with all due speed,
For a shower, a shower is all that I need.
I wash my hair till it resembles a great lion’s mane,
Shiningly shimmering in the shower-induced rain.
The soap, I capture, with a swipe of the wrist,
While it slips and slides in my strong iron fist.
Out of the shower, I sprint to get dressed.
I struggle with myself to pick out what’s best.
Pants or a skirt? I must make my choice.
No! I scream, with a desperate voice
Alas, it was gone, what I wanted to wear!
It was gone with my friends, when I decided to share!
Melancholy I was, but I did not fret.
On with the skirt I said,
And the turtleneck.
All fresh a clean, I realized my real pain.
Oh the hunger!
Oh the ravenous, unforgiving hunger.
I then set out for my next quest.
Food.
I searched in vein for some Froot-Loops.
The were gone last week along with the fruit juice.
Oh hunger! I say.
I must have food now!
But the question is, how?
Pancakes, I know not how to bake,
Oatmeal, I do not know how to make,
Boil, I do not know how to water,
(Or is it water I do not know how to boil? One can never tell)
Eggs, I know not how to create.
“Gram!” I scream with desperation,
“Please, for god’s sake, give me some satiation!”
In she comes, steadfast and true,
With some bacon, and eggs,
For her granddaughter-pooh.
“For me!” I exclaim, with honest delight,
And experience great ecstasy in each and every bite.
Off to school I say, and run to my doom,
Hoping each day, that it would me summer soon.
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 8:25 PM UTC
Prelude,
Skin was scorching,
Prickling our naked ankles.
Whispers of passion—amounting to the indefinite.
Excitement overriding fear.
Your smirk—it was scorning my wit, but all the while I was spinning—
Trying to outdo you.
Challenging the norm of lovers before me, despite those many warnings.
And yet, here I am, brushing against your infamous lips,
Having more intentions than I care to share with you,
Because I will be the exception.
I, a determined revolutionist bent on transforming your philosophy.
The inevitable vulnerability, the alleged helplessness found by your touch—
You were all talk, and nothing I couldn’t handle.
_____________
Interlude,
Something encroaches now.
A force unplanned.
It violates me. It breaches the wall of my veins.
Slithering, swimming —
A parasitic force of which I was convinced I was immune.
Biology’s symbiotic model; forever tainted by our act.
For many a love was given in primal flesh, yet goes unrequited in spirit.
I believed I could break this cycle.
I, the revolutionist
Believed I could topple your deeply set pride.
I believed I could crack your shell and pull out the viscera,
Bleeding, pulsating in between my fingers, and let the mass slide from my hands
To fall upon your chest, floundering in plain view.
I imagined that your eyebrow would raise, your lips would part to form a
Contorted grin, you would sigh, and then admit,
“Nicely Done.”
I believed you would be impressed.
I believed you would be impressed…
______________
Epilogue,
Wit is waning.
Skin is cold, rotting… and wasting.
My beautiful body is rotting.
And I cannot admit that you were right,
Lest I would rot more quickly.
Still unyielding to your claims,
Only so you not think of me as fragile,
Not because I think I may win.
Clinging to the hope that you may someday learn to love
This broken, yearning body.
This fallen revolutionist—
All along a convenient satiation of flesh.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 5:07 PM UTC
you know that feeling when
you stare too long at a word and
you no longer grasp the meaning so
you stop looking?
perhaps that’s why
you fell out of love with me
you stared too long and
decided to stop loving
Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 4:14 PM UTC
my path is satiation
rage is my recreation
no more delineation
i crave your liberation
im caught in my own mire
bound up by my desires
cage of my own creation
im stuck between relations
sacraments and medication
breathed into my being
divisions my denomination
emptiness is what i'm feeling
all my hopes ive been misplacing
i lose my head in circle tracing
lines throughout my thoughts
fight to twist, untwist, each place they cross
i guess maybe i'm lost
and so i look for signs
create them where they're not
they say that desperate times
call for desperate measures
im so desperate for pleasure
i mistake it for pain
so hungry for help,
i could drown in a drop of rain
so take me deeper
i'm already under
what more is there to loose
ill breathe in fear
im underwater
this is the death i choose
sacraments not meant for tasting
ive spent my whole life chasing
but my life and self are recreating
and my guilt God is erasing
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC