"signify" poems
Now mind is clear
as a cloudless sky.
Time then to make a
home in wilderness.
What have I done but
wander with my eyes
in the trees? So I
will build: wife,
family, and seek
for neighbors.
Or I
perish of lonesomeness
or want of food or
lightning or the bear
(must tame the hart
and wear the bear).
And maybe make an image
of my wandering, a little
image—shrine by the
roadside to signify
to traveler that I live
here in the wilderness
awake and at home.
13.4k
Genuine intellect is often falsely understood.
Brainpower cannot be measured by grades or exam performance,
Nor from one's tone of voice or accent,
Or the complexity of their vocabulary.
It is not always proportional to the size of an income,
The exclusivity of a school,
The grasp of understanding of trigonometry or algebra,
Or one's apparent IQ.
*Difficulties and struggles do not make you unintelligent,
They make you human.*
Perception;
Clarity of insight,
Being a good judge of character
and showing an understanding beyond thought
indicate subtle brilliance.
Having an aptitude with words,
Knowing how to comfort, to console,
Delicacy and precision
And showing empathy to emotions
Signify the intricate beauty of the mind.
*Intelligence is sensitive, and has a certain elegance.
It is knowing, but not saying.*
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
My scars are NOT just scars sometimes they remind me of traumatic experiences.
Sometimes people would stare at them with a look so curious, that I myself, would become furious.
Because my scars felt like a punishment of a series of consecutive jail sentences.
They had me Feeling overwhelmed by weariness
So I put up a fence to hide what I believe was my hideousness.
Then my naked eyes realized the true lies, that behinds these marks are where the truth hides
My scars are NOT just scars they are Evidence of a Wound, evidence that after pain healing must come soon.
My scars are a sign to show Life was adjusted just as a violin being tuned
My scars are not just scars they show that I have gone thru a Transformation.
My scars are not just scars The give me motivation in my times desperation.
My scars aren't just scars They signify even after my trails, I am Triumphed!
My scars are Marks Of my pass History to celebrate even I was hurt I have the victory! For Greater is He that is within me.
My scars are NOT just scars, they show that God was With me thru it all Truly!
My scars are not just scars they are Permanent sacred Marks Of Beauty.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 10:10 PM UTC
So …..
Who Are The ...
... " Good Guys " ... ?
In These Modern Times ... ?
Osama … Obama ... ? ?
Or Those … Civil Type Guardia ... ?
What ...
Makes Them Good ... ?
The Guns They Use ...
As If They ... Should ….
To RESTRAIN and ... Defuse ...
VIOLENT … Neighbourhoods … !?!
But REALLY …
Is This ... What They Do … ?!?
I've Heard Stories ...
That … Relay TRUTH ...
About The ABUSE ...
Some Guardia … Choose … !!!
Like …
STRIPPING Men …
In … Spanish Streets ...
To ... Prove To Them ….
The ... Kinda PROBLEMS ...
They're ... BOUND To See ...
If They ... DON'T Respect ...
The ... " Gendarmerie " … !!!!!
Good Guys ….. !!!?!!!
REALLY … ?!?
Or Employed … BULLIES ... !?!
The Type Who ... FEED ...
of … "ABUSE FILLED Deeds" … !!!
The Type That Make ...
Young People … BLEED … !!!
When ...
Guns They … PARADE …
Aren't Used … " Properly " …
Kind of Like …. " NEWTOWN " ….
Where It's CLEAR … Gun Sounds ...
Will Now … RESOUND ...
In The ... Hearts and Mouths ...
of ... Parents Now …
Resound With … " LOSS " … !!!!!
Cos' A ... LOVED One's Gone … !!!!!
WITHOUT A …. Song ….
Or Farewell ... "Prolonged" ...
So …. ???
What Was The Mantra ... ?
of … Adam Lanza ... ?
To Shoot REPEATEDLY ...
In A ... KILLING SPREE …
That Took … SO MANY … !!!!!
Was His Mind So HEAVY ... ?!?
That His Thoughts … CLEARLY …
Had Become … "UNstEAdy" … !!!
So …
Where Were Connecticut's ...
GOOD GUYS … Then … ?
With The ... " NRA " ... !?!
At A ... Shooting Range … ???
Shooting Guns For … "FUN" … !!!
While The Blood of A MUM ...
And Youngsters ..... RUN .....................................
Down SCHOOL Hallways ...
In The … Middle of The Day ... !?!
Now The NRA Says …
"Bad Guys with guns,
need to face, good ones !"
Okay Okay ...
But Let's ... Get This Straight … !!!
It's ... OKAY For A Man ...
Whose Been Paid and Trained ...
To ... SHOOT TO **** ...
Pretty Much AT WILL ...
Cos' It's Been … " Okayed " …
By The …. " NRA " …. !?!
Who Said ...
They Were Good … !!!???!!!
I Learnt My Lesson ...
Watching … Charlton Heston ... !!!
It Would ...
Seem To Me ...
That ... NRA Peeps …
Care ...
MORE For ... MONEY ...
Than When … Children BLEED … !!?!!
It's ... ALL About GREED … !!!
Cos' ...
Good GUYS ... DON'T NEED ...
To Have … " ARMOURIES " ... !!!
To ENSURE The Streets ...
Are Filled With … "PEACE" ...
and I … For One ...
DON'T Believe That Guns ...
Have … ANY Function …
In …. Education …. !!!!!!
Educate Our Youth ….. !!!
About The ...
HARM They Cause ... !!!!!!!
They NEED To Be Schooled ...
In ….... AVOIDING Wars ............ !!!!!!
And In ... Avoiding Depression …
That Leads To HARSH Lessons ... !!!!!
It Time To STRENGTHEN ... !!!
Our Fight Against ... Guns ...
And Time To … " LESSEN " … !!!
" NRA " ... Type Funds ... !!!!!
That SUPPORT … " The Lie "
of ….. " Preservation of life " …
Through The Use of …
………. GUNS …………
Seeing Blood ... Run …
DOESN'T ... Signify FUN … !!!!!
NEITHER Does ...
... The Sight ...
of Police In Schools ...
With A Gun By Their Side … !!!
They Weren't In View …
When I Was ... Being Schooled … !!!
So FOLKS …
DON'T BE ... Fooled ... !!!
By ... Lobbyist Groups … !!!!!
When It Comes To ...
... "Who is Who" …
Who Are THEY To Decide … !???!
When It Comes To ... Peoples' Lives ...
Who The People Should Believe .....
To Be …………………………
... "The Good Guys !!!" ...
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
how would you let the ice cream melt
if you didn't want it anymore
would you take a blowdryer to its droopy shape
whisper you're sorry but just can't stay
would you compliment the ice cream
watch it blush
let the heat rise to its face
then whisper you're sorry but you're going away
why would you let the ice cream melt
if you crave its texture and taste
when something isnt good for you,
perhaps it is better to let it bleed through
so that you can carry on
would you abandon the ice cream
there on the kitchen table
congealed and sticky and unwanted
letting the drips from the carton signify all of the tears
the ice cream would shed in your absence
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC
When the dice are thrown
one can only hope for a chance
I was sad, almost dead inside
when you suddenly came in,
I raised my head, in the darkness
still in disbelief,
and saw your eyes sparkling
do I imagine , or has this gleam been hidden
from my pining heart by some strange design?
I was about to grab my things
and vanish in the cold darkness
you wouldn't have seen me ever after;
life could be heartless, cold, even when
it seems to be smiling like full moon,
I had learned this, in my days of love lessons
But through the corner of my open window
I saw the sky was so blue and smiling
the fluffy white clouds, like sheep in a pasture
were playful, they did their best, to cheer me a bit,
brought me hope that something will change everything,
you would even decide to see me one last time
before everything go up in smoke.
Then, you walked in,
the scent of a freshly bloomed flower
sought my hand to dance with her
I still wasn't sure what it did signify
but the sparkle of your eyes, said it all
they arrested me, I did surrender
wasn't that what I yearned all this while ?
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
An exchange of temptations that led to a hidden ordeal
On an act of carnal ecstasy made to seal a deal
The gamble to see if it’s worth lending a piece of the soul
While trembling inside for the choices that would soon take toll
The signs of deceit slowly surfaced but were shrugged despite suspicion
Until a hasty flight provoked inner unrest and affliction
Vivid memories of a previous torment come back haunting
Knowing full well the Succubus affinity for betraying
With logic and reason as both weapon and armor
Against an enemy not easily made for capture
Bargaining on a final bet that her grip be brought to nothing
To release the mind from seemingly rotting
The bargain commenced along with foreseen treason
The sought peace only a hollow victory in a silently echoing frustration
In total silence with a feeling that heavily burned
A mental wall built to signify the lesson learned
Screams of pain of the innards locked away in reticence
Occurring to just seemingly mock the brilliance
With great resolve brought by the treachery writhing in virulence
Came the vigilance of avoiding such penitence
And to never again taste the Succubus’ Sting in Silence
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 9:09 PM UTC
emerald, olive, viridian
oh how you perplex me
forest, jade, chartreuse
why do you tease me so
cyan, verdigris, moss
such excitement arises
to be a word
to be a meaning
is there such a thing,
to have a feeling
to see a vision,
phthalo, pine, teal
are you the same
mint, myrtle, laurel
you make me envious
to be blooming, to be healthy
to be young, to be clumsy
are you callow, how about credulous?
but such a conservationist
unquestioning, so trustful,
tenderfoot and common
the tree, the lawn, the willow
though ecological and crude
a sage in all but name
apple, spinach, pea
aren't you scrumptious,
lime, kelly, bice
are you nature, how about luck
you're pungently rotten
though with such dark beauty and hope,
love and lust ensues
you're the jolliness of balance
and the creative intelligence;
of evil, and decay of money and safety,
will you resurrect me, are you immortality?
such jealousy arises
high goals and honor
so so allusive
healing and vitality
you're calming though fast
lush spring stability,
abundant generosity,
vert vegetation; witchcraft
an aphrodisiac I hear,
are you youth or fading youth?
sunrise and life, growth and fertility
sacred ideology,
eroticized though shameful
so romantic and humble
I see the third ray
or is the the fifth ray, the third eye
are you truth, are you vision
it's becoming a science,
so much compassion
the fourth chakra, the heart,
the centre of us all
a higher consciousness
such a harmonious aura
a hunter, a nurse, a solider, an outdoorsman
villains and superstition
misfortune and prosperity
with toxicity, sickness and death,
recycle and reuse
oh so powerful
you exude auspiciousness
just a holiday
mystical fairies and spirits
though also devilish,
cancer in the stars
a renewal of paradise,
biliously tranquil
are you refreshingly soothing,
peacefully restful,
a naive novice,
very understanding,
is there truly a term for you?
what do you really convey,
countless representations
a definition of name,
or do you signify the feeling, the specimen
the aspect?
though some have no locution for you
here I am,
stepping around the issue
you are you, in any word
yet with a different meaning
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
Astonished at the plethora of cars outside my casket, I try to get up. But, I'm held down by chains. It's so bright through the little cracks in The casket that I have to squint my eyes.
The sunRays ask me, "are you ready for this ride?"
I'm pinned down, hell bound. All these gifts decorated around me and on top of me signify that I'm decaying.
I am the epitome of the hearts grief. Since day one I was infected by your leave. Theres a honk, then A crash. Caused by the distraction of me being buried. Theres a hole in the window, theres a girl in the seat and there's a screech.
"Wait for me girl!" I scream. I scramble to get free. Get me out of here. Where's the rescue for her soul? The wreckage burdens me. As people flea my scene, I see backs turn from me.
Just a bit overheated, i awake from this peculiar dream. Also me in the parking lot, with the key, foot on brake, rumbled and shakes to start for a drive.
It then dawns on me; I'm going to my own funeral.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 5:00 AM UTC
Did you ever wonder why
Why the crows always sighed
Shallow sighs that seemed to signify
The broken pieces of happiness that once used to collide
Looking back at it now
I could hear a poetic prowl
A town full of memories
A land full of histories
Think simply, they used to tell me
Because with that, they said
You can take on life slightly more effortlessly
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 1:46 PM UTC
The kite gets high, stays aloft-
quite some time displaying
enviable dexterity, for fun
do spectacular somersaults as much times
as it could, climbs up in air with a loud swoosh
then look! how the wind gets *****
with her, if she has something
of a skirt, it goes up, up to an
indecent height, she doesn't have
that balance a player at such
heights should have kept always.
Its absurd, all these acrobatics silly kite
displays before the world at high altitudes
with a unholy interest
to show herself more accomplished
than what she really is, could you
pardon that frivolity, because she
has many more colors than clouds.
He admits abashedly that he too was
once in love with her frivolous attractiveness,
but he never could understand a kite;
in spite of the lightness, that makes
it easier to travel heights, has kite a significance?
After all what is a kite? her merit?
a strange arrangement that defies
common sense, all it can do is aimless flying.
Isn't it a charge serious enough?
even a dry leaf, or a falling feather
can do these acrobatics for a while.
What is the meaning of a kite,
kindly someone notify , if it has any,
meaningless flying is not for anything
of substance, what kind of play
is it, if it is perceived as one, by any one
why the folly of someone take us
for a ride all these years, without
a second thought, he wonders
who might have promoted it, had some
ulterior motive, some point to prove;
wind, mightiest of forces is made to look weak
in everyday life .
He would suspect, in the bargain many
generations too spent their time
in this vein pursuit without any thought.
Any kite display a greed to go up and
stay there, till the time it is possible to float
don't want to be back, when wind is on her side
unless force is applied, what does it signify?
Kite has a hunger to touch wonder with its fingers
he knows, and he can't but appreciate it
and when the occasion arises she fly up to the cloud,
play with him as if he is her secret lover, that hurts
could such a liaisons are to be be tolerated
she knows how a cloud tastes at different times
Yes, sky certainly intoxicates her,
she want to move closer, doesn't it spell danger?
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
I have seen this town grow
through the tides of my time,
to the low and call of the market men,
to all of my drinks laced with lime.
The cracks form in concrete,
as they do to my aging face,
but never are the streets unrecognisable.
No, here, I can always find a place.
And the clock tower calls,
just to signify the passing day,
oh, all of life’s sorrow falls
to the saying: “come what may.”
I know you all, I’ve seen you crawl
through these jobs; waiting tables,
pouring wine, and shooting pool
in the stagnant afternoons;
claiming your past as part of mine.
Rupert Brooke is now but a name,
some archaic poet of yesterday.
His name now naught but of drinking fame,
as all the customers line up to pay.
Oh, I miss my childhood, old friends now past,
only stark reminders that nothing is built to last.
I need you now, my lifelong friend;
to my soul, give warmth,
to my heart, please mend.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
Passing through mid-century
these jazz oneironauts reached Apollonian heights
while society drifted into Dionysian drunkenness
the merchants caught on too soon
The most beautiful parts of humanity
enamored to serve the ugliest:
The merchant class, the bourgeoisie
Buddha’s undeserving in charge
If only in past centuries
those noble princesses embraced
even more lowly patronages
all this potential today could be staved off
Saved from the drive to be commodified
People stopped buying jazz as it reached its height
No more smiles to appease the whites
Jazz for the few
the noble, the individual in the know
Until this too becomes the simulacrum
The Ornette Coleman on the bookshelf
to signify your snootiness
your refinement from wealth
Aging Dads in thousand dollar sweaters
kicking out their 22 year old kids
for being ****** addled hipsters
meanwhile Bird on Verve is nodding out
and Dad’s girlfriend pops a Percocet
to deal with all the stress
Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 10:50 AM UTC
The dermatologist demands a pre-summer scan of my visual delights fully magnified.
Peering into places where no one else has ever peered, even me, reminds me that this is a potentially "disruptive" process.
Eye don't know what his eyes have seen.
He works in silence pin punctuated by the occasional mmmm or throat clearing rumble.
Snappy removal of neutrally colored gloves signify conclusion, he opines as follows:
"Were you aware," he inquires, "that the lines, the furrows on a your forehead correspond to the life your have lead?"
"You have three, deep deep tracks, and that's a fact."
Yes, eye know,
and each one is a tree ring notation
of my existence.
Each a different year,
each a different moment fearful,
a death and a birth,
a passing, a regaining.
No, not children or parents,
illusions.
Markers of our lives are the
birth and death of our illusionary,
our revelation minutes, that measure and scribe
what dug those furrows is now officially,
no more.
Until we start anew,
a different Pretense,
a channel commenced to commemorate.
Living the dream, they say,
aren't we all, eye think, and so inform him.
The doctor did not bill for this
visitation.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots,
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
3.3k
I fell asleep
To the smell of antiseptic,
Sterilizer, biogesic,
And the cold touch of metal
Rods that only seem
To grow colder
With the touch of hospital
Left in the student's
Ward - a whistle
Permeates the silence
Of seniors
Painlessly sleeping away
Hours upon
Hours until graduation -
A coming of age -
An escapism from past papers
And teachers who have
Themselves given up
On them.
And the lights you
See are as bright
And as empty as those blinking
Feebly
In that of the school doctor's
Office, one not really
Blinking more of
Washed, and supported
Wobbling by daylight
Seeping in through peeling blinds,
Unable to see too much -
The headaches and stomachaches
Have rendered him numb
To the feeling.
And lunch comes
And out blows the whistle to
Signify the end
Of playtime for
The young ones, start
Of playtime for
The older ones,
Whistle blowing muffled
By the septic tank glass
Doors of this sacred outhouse,
Wards muffling the cries of children
As they flee the quadrangle,
Once mad, twice elated,
Still innocent, untired,
Not needing to fake sick
And rest their heads softly
Upon thin soft beds with
Towels wrapped haphazardly
Behind their backs,
Nostalgia, it was
Laughter, I swear it was louder
When we used to run,
When our eyes lit up like
The sun petering in through
The doctor's orifices,
When our bruises and bumps
Smelled like betadine,
Not sleep
And cups of sterile water downed
To mask the scent of
Fake cough syrup,
And cuts gotten from fiddled syringes,
Bruised ankles
Bent over undersized beds,
And not running over
Uneven pavement,
Ankles brushing tablecloth,
Schoolbag,
Basketball and frisbee,
And the screaming.
Oh, how I miss
The screaming.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
Colours, bright and blazing
Colours, dark and drab
Colours all around us
Colours we can grab
Wear your colours proudly
In almost all you do
But, be careful with your colours
Others have colours too
Black and White
Red and Blue
Orange, Green as well
Blue and Grey
Dark or Light
Colours show and tell
Your colours tell us lots of things
Like which team you support
But, wear your colours carefully
Or you'll end up in court
Colours can cause skirmishes
Colours can cause wars
Colours can cause arguements
Colours break down doors
Wear your colours proudly
No matter what they be
But, A White Hood worn in Harlem
And you'll be hanging from a tree
Colours are religion
Colours are your soul
Colours show your preference
Colours make you whole
I don't know what your colour is
In fact I just don't care
I only know your colours
Let others know you're there
Black and White
Red and Blue
Orange, Green as well
Blue and Grey
Dark or Light
Colours show and tell
Colours push the envelope
Colours blur the lines
Colours make a challenge
Colours show whats mine
Colours make us happy
Colours take away
Colours help us know ourselves
Colours make our day
Wear your colours proudly
Be it red, or black or pink
Yellow, Green or Orange
No matter what folks think
But, wear your colours safely
Wear them and be proud that you are seen
But, be careful what they say because
Remember just what colours mean
This is not written as a warning
I just want you to be proud
Of what colours signify you
Wear them out and wear them loud
Black and White
Red and Blue
Orange, Green as well
Blue and Grey
Dark or Light
Colours show and tell
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
A quiet life
A country life
Where the grass sways in the breeze
And the hues of green signify the beginning of balmy nights
A far cry from the city
Gone are the endless vibrant lights
Gone are the 2 a.m. trips across town just because they make the best doughnuts
In this place of air almost too clean to breathe
They stroll
A traffic jam is four cars at a stop sign
Battling rules of the road with polite hat tips of "you go first"
Fast feet and hot dog carts
Italian ices on every corner
Fifty-six blocks to a destination
A world of choices
A billion footprints at a time
Stoplight crowds of sneakers and pantyhose
Everyone is invisible and naked at once
The green haired freak and the business man
The limos and the gypsy cabs
The excitement only felt in a world of possibilities
The difference between pick up trucks and bike messengers
A hundred miles for supplies
Or fifty-six blocks of everything under the sun
Soot filled pores and too much traffic
Street sounds to sleep by and a world of opportunities
Crickets and junebugs
The world closes at eight
Nightlife turns into Wal-Mart and Taco Bell
The slow pace of growing grass
The warmth of a winterless Summer
Wishing for a trip across town at 2 a.m. just because they make the best doughnuts
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
Hello scarecrow,
with straw hair and sackcloth skin.
Hello scarecrow,
with drawn on eyes and a mouth shut with a pin.
Your close mouthed smile startles birds,
and so they have flown like fast regretted words.
alone I see you in the golden field,
alone I feel you, living heart deeply sealed
Sewn inside your rugged flesh,
a man is watching with bated breath.
For a word to signal his return,
for the fire to signify his burn.
Trapped inside another's skin
trapped, waiting for his life to begin.
Your eyes watch the world go by,
trapped scarecrow waits to die,
trapped the scarecrow starts to cry.
If I could set you free I swear I would,
But unlike you, my skin is made of wood.
Goodbye scarecrow,
With gritty straw hair and burnt sackcloth skin.
Goodbye scarecrow,
With living eyes and a skeleton grin.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
WE never camouflage with the masses nor follow trends and direction out of gullibility. The path WE're on may signify bleakness in the days to come and may look filthy to some.
Wait, the plural emphasised just struck my concern and weakness..are WE unified? or perhaps unity to US is all contrary and single word equivocation. Wait.. who are WE?..that question repetitively asked by my subconscious sarcastically.."I" answer "WE are who WE are. The misfits"
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
I've stopped caring if people call me Mr.
I'm resigned sometimes to fade away
like a moldy apple rotting quietly in the bin
it was only a taste of me that ever counted
but I'm not done yet
(sigh)
babies...this is the rowdy bus ride
on the long windy island road
shouting holy ****
as the driver power swerves around the sunday driving couple
in a flash, white knuckled eye to eye with the semi driver
not even surprised
that we are colliding
no-one else seems to notice
this ride ends too,
a red house on a hillside over looking the pacific
monkey toucan sloth
a private pool
infinity style, ends at the edge and tumbles into what
nothing to signify
no goals met
I'm just alive,
perhaps underachieving,
this number on my check is a third of last years take
maybe I'm not charging enough
maybe I'm working too hard or not eating
I've gained no weight since college
and I barely seem to care
I learn night moves, sometimes I can sing
fearless full throated belts
a sign in some ohio river town
in front of some church
that some people still go to
and maybe get charged at the door
says
pray ceaselessly
they say
yoga is a way of being
a person goes to the gym for an hour
but what about the other 23
I keep my back straight and my breath full
and count a days labor
for ******* in my *****
and keeping my triangles engaged
just like Bomchew and Paul taught me
an old lady smiles at me in a white stair case, calls me cowboy
she said she saw me standing in court
a judge threatening to throw me in jail
and said to herself
now theres a man
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 4:03 PM UTC
‘freedom is a state of mind’
Wars fought
Wars lost
Freedom gained
Freedom lost.
The mind is almost devoid of peace,
When a beast sits entrapped inside.
It is like two magnets of the same charge.
Conflicting and warring,
Trying to meet at a certain point.
Barbed wires of suppression
blunt knives of oppression
The head is a place of chaos
full of:
‘I’m guilty’ ‘No you are not’
‘I’m too proud’ ‘no you are not’
The oppressor just mollifies the pain of the suppressor
It is too weak to overcome it.
The head then bursts
And out flow tears, tears in a million shades
For they signify such different sorrowful tastes
The person, he sighs
An empty mind
Peaceful mind
War fought
War won
Freedom lost
Freedom gained
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
Every day.
The everyday.
You see it every day.
The twitch and reel and marble movement
As turgid blood surfaces to face,
Flows to operate stiff shoulders.
Backs hunch as soon as they're alone.
And they are alone.
Surrounded by lovers that
Love in word only.
They chew their nails and cross their ankles.
Uncross.
And look around.
Spring. Could you imagine?
Gear, wire. Did he say?
Bolt, frame. Isn't he?
Ratchet. And then what did he say?
Screws.
Rotor.
A bunch of ****
Oil.
Oil.
Oil. Oil. Oil.
Plug in.
Silence.
It moves.
We move a head in times of
Strain. To signify
Exact measures.
Twist on axis
With perfect posture.
Unnoticed frameworks bar our days.
We are brass.
The more crass are silver, gold.
And the days are polish. Or maybe sand.
Soon there are no mistakes.
The veneer cakes without flaw.
We do not acknowledge.
We are not caught.
For little hours though, there are kinks.
Pauses.
Errors.
Open the clockwork face.
What is stuck?
A look around.
The gears that grind us to cognition
Are jammed by a fly-body
Of soul.
Soon, soon, sooner than ever
It will be crushed.
So gears might continue,
Might make room for the everyday.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 2:57 PM UTC
I look to you,
You calm my nerves
Calm within
Calm on the surface
You and me
We signify peace
We represent unity
We are harmony
Together as one
One soul
One mind
When it comes to us,
Everything's fine
2/13/14
(a.f.c)
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
She never lied, she never lies,
She just ignores.
The truth,
I tried to tell her how I feel,
She just ignored,
The proof.
"Then try to think of something else", she said.
"Write the other way"
Whenever she'd drink and rant like this,
I'd stay out of her way.
Because “real”, for her, seemed to signify,
I tried it once, but should probably try again.
I was real with you, that once,
Only, later, to find
That those imploring me to "relax",
Insisting things would be different,
If only I could "flow", If only I could "see"...
You said, “be real”, and now the memory
Just turns my ******* stomach
Since all of those whose mantra called,
For a plea to just “be real”
Were the least capable, almost to the man,
Of being anything close to that.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 7:02 AM UTC