"solicited" poems
I sit at the bar of life
Looking forward to happy hour
Another beer
A solicited romance
Something
Even a bowl of peanuts that never came
How I yearn for conversation
Warmth
I can only dream
Seated a few chairs away
Is a rainbow haired hillbilly
Backpacking possums
Gees
Can you imagine
He said he lives under
The outskirts of ****** land
He smiles
I smile
I catch a bee from behind
As the bartendress walk by
My eyes look at her behind
And catch honey
My claim to fame
Oh how I wish I were a bee
And had somebody
Like the rainbow haired hillbilly
That tends under the outskirts of ****** land
I look over at him
He's always smiling
Maybe it has something to do
With playing a fiddle and finding music, finding new paths
Goats and milk
And backpacking possums
Or maybe its sublime
Oh, how I wish I could smile
Feel warmth
Sunshine
And look into her peering eyes
Logan Robertson
7/16/18
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC
Questions Please
Put up a question please
Throw me a question please
Question, any question
Burning or sensational
big or small or silly
easy or tough or absurd
hypothetical or factual
All questions are invited.
Only and only questions
No Answers at all
As I already have answers
I have answers to all the questions
that ever existed, but ceased to exist today.
I have the answers to prevailing questions
that are making us crazy day by day
I even have the answers to the questions
which are still in the future's belly
waiting to be born one day
in this beautiful and ugly world
Questions please
All sorts of questions
May be from geography or philosophy
Or from religion to defence studies
It may be from medical science or history
Or from space research too
Animal husbandry is no taboo
Questions on skydiving are also welcome
Politics is my all-time favourite
although I can answer sports or adventure
Questions on corruption are also solicited
You can ask on oceanography or calligraphy too
I know everything, literally everything
but neither I am 'Google' nor 'Bing'
I am not even 'Duck Duck Go'
nor I claim to be 'Baidu'
I guessed your question.
You are wondering – "Who am I?"
It's very-very simple Man!
I am a nasty spokesperson from the ruling party
I may be found mostly in television debates
as a panelist, as a debator, as a joker
as a disturbing element, as a liar
as a person making hue and cries
You may or may not like my answers,
but, please like me, please love me
Raise slogans for me, Praise me
Make me famous, make me a celebrity
But even if you dislike me
I don't care, I have my media
I have my own followers
I also own a troll army
I train them perfectly
I pay them heavily
I spend too much on
News media and Social media
I have my own trustworthy mob
who is always ready for violence
anytime and anywhere
at any cost whatsoever
Beware, I am from the ruling party
I inherit a complete readymade system
of Investigating agencies, Ready to book anyone
on false and frivolous grounds.
And it will take years to prove innocence
Innocence may be proved, may be disproved
This also depends on Money, Power and Links
Or the nasty arithmetic of alliance with us in future
So if you still chose to dislike me
It's your choice, but wait
I can still become a minister
Or even a prime minister
I have the quality to lure voters
I have the answers to all the questions
That ever existed or are existing
Or that are stilling waiting to be born.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 2:16 AM UTC
1
Her thick dark eyebrows did cast a spell first,
they are stuck there like vampire bats,
they both symbolize a sinister plot, kept secret,
with a 'come hither' prompt, none can resist.
She attracted artists in hordes, crazy moths,
never did they look above her face,the serpents,
lay tangled and acted as if it's smooth coiffure.
Wicked lust,aroused by bitter past,
made her move with keen intent
an invisible net she carried behind her back.
She attacked at opportune moments, pretending
she is a lover, with insatiable lust in boil.
2
All crafted lies, simultaneously,she artfully solicited,
colored moths, in her slow fire, they burned, one by one,
but one remained stuck there for life, fearing rejection every moment.
A crop of heads she reaped , wherever she went,
a kite was ever ready to fly her victim-hood colors higher and higher,
that made admirers **** in their breath and stoop,
before her to her advantage, she had no dearth for volunteers any time.
Burning words made her chants fly like fire works,
her collection of heads turned stones by admiring her
increased, as a huntress she was an ace
stuffed in her cubbyhole of a heart, heads of stone languished.
3
Medusa,you don't have sisters,
I count it the luck of those unborn
how beautiful, you once were I still remember,
though no sun visited the north you spent your childhood.
Run, run my feared beauty, to the sun, before your heart
get charred by the heat of hatred, you bear in the Gothic interiors.
4
I hate Perseus, don't you fear your Nemesis?
Every Athena you wrongly think your foe and fight,
all your hair turned serpents, still I thought, love would work,
without coming upfront, I kept my flame burning,
but all in vein, you could never love anyone, legitimately or otherwise.
Your blood, all of it, has turned venom, you spit it, slowly
its beauty amazes, even the victims on the line next...
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
He who expends his days a wanderer,
Is not aware of his gift,
Though he may hunger,
and steal into the wicked alleys
where the spirits of evil men dwell,
He lives and sees the world in a view,
one that is unimaginable,
as he sings lowly as he walks through the end of night,
He has no possessions that are worth possessing,
Such that another wanderer may wish for his own,
None except his life,
One of seeing the world from the outside,
As he is starving from within.
I gave him some money, and offered him my seat.
And society's eye upon me
as if I am naive,
but I wish them to hold their assumptions,
for I believed this man, even his lies.
I could sense his sincerity,
as distinguished from the typical
**** beggars that would scold
anyone's failure of compliance.
And though he solicited me until the last moment,
I knew that my advice may settle in,
and for he to use his supreme vantage point
of a Sufferer of the City, one without another,
I asked this man, who convinced me of his
desire to be a writer, to document his days.
And to educate himself, this 30-year-old, black, amputee,
Torn between drugs and gangs, and a better life
that is unattainable.
I asked him to be infallible in his refusal of
Those evils which will deteriorate his soul,
For its royalty will be paralleled not to material wealth,
but to any base behavior, or noble virtue.
and if he stutters in his gait, to channel such self destruction into
a productive means to write about his sufferings.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
The doubts of tomorrow my flow's been borrowed
.
I never solicited for your POWER.
.
All I did was study the crowded,
.
wondered how they spent their hours
.
for my time is here
.
worries to sear
.
I cut the cloth it sounds soothing to your ear.
.
You never met me but I helped you appear
.
.
Afraid to get laid
.
or
.
obsess with getting paid?
.
.
.
Shatter the jade
.
remove all the fables and plays
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
These sonnets.
.
.
.
.
Harmonic
.
.
Semiotics
.
I know the how to study objects.
.
.
.
.
.
Old ways forgotten.
.
.
New ways to solve it.
.
.
.
For money itself was the excuse of the chicken hearted.
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad she's just a friend
and doesn't know the crew
I never tell her my story
She reads every page herself
She never touches the exhibits
the essences of me
elegantly
arranged upon the shelves
She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad shes just a friend
and never knew the crew
She paces in silence
Slight smirk under her eyes
As she wanders around my gallery
galaxies
analogies of abnormal realities
Seen from within the guise
She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad she's just a friend
And will never know the crew
Every so often she pauses
Her footsteps resound
The curator looks up interested
and solicited
a reaction uninhibited
From a mind profound
She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad she's just a friend
And doesn't want to know the crew
Her analysis is always unique
And as if she was the artist
The curator thinks, in retrospect
she is correct.
As she walks out the exit
Her path is marked by a trail of stardust.
She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad she's just a friend
And is unknown to the crew
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 4:38 AM UTC
Solicited smiles
Send shivers.
Somewhat surprising!
Shouldn't snakes
Send slithers?
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 4:01 AM UTC
an opinion
solicited ain't equal
to one freely voiced
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
19 years old
4 car wrecks
All I should have died
People say it was gods will
I don't care what it was
I should have died
I wanted to die
My life a shambled mess
Of questions and fears
Will I succeed
Who will give me a chance
Do I get opportunities
Or am I stereotyped into immaturity
I've whispered only truths
Screamed nothing but respect
Played ***** to the man
*** bent towards the sky
Solicited my dignity
Abandoned my pride
Murdered my ego
Just to ask for a job
But still got rejected
This life isn't mine for long
I can feel it slipping away
Death whispers on the wind
It's scent calling on the waves
In this world I'm only another victim
Another corpse to be lain to rest
A weakling that couldn't survive
Another fool buried beside them all
A soldier trying to protect his own
A stereotyped scraggly pothead ***
Based only on my looks
I wear plaid jackets and beanies
Boots with a mustache and beard
I ask for shelter
Leave before the night is over
Im a worthless ********** in the homes
Of strangers unknowing what I go through
Life was perfect in the beginning
With family to love you
Give you reasons to smile
Give you the comfort
Knowing you were safe by their side
But in a world hungry
For souls of the innocent
Thirsty for the hearts of the hopeful
We find only death our true friend
The only truth to this life
You'll say I'm only complaining
But look around
Tell me what part isn't true
These are the rantings
This 19 year old scraggly pothead
*** in your eyes has left
A last resort
To save himself and the world
He grew up in
Watching it devour itself
With us as collateral damage
Us the reason we forced its hands
Savages wanting death
Tormenting till its suicide
A quicker answer than saying
There truly is hope
But I'm a blinded kid
Staring at the hallucinations
Of a light at the end of a tunnel
That never existed to begin with
This is just the darkness
We all contributed to create
Too scared to face music we wrote
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 3:33 AM UTC
I wondered what words I could use to solicit a response from you –
then, that’s when it hits me.
You do not respond to words,
you respond to the colors of the sea, of the sky, of the sand.
You respond to black and white photos and smiles that don’t exactly look happy. You respond to songs that makes sense of a moment – of a time that meant something more than the ticking of a clock. You respond to the reverie during the ungodly hours of the night, the messages that try to hide themselves in the shadows. You respond to the questions that do not ask what you do but how you do things and you respond to the why’s without being asked because you think it’s important to say it – the why.
And because I did not know these things well when I needed too,
I kept on waiting for this most solicited response only to be answered by unsolicited silences.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
time to write a long poem i don't have it. i've buried my head in so many dark corners and the words are faun and fowl. i made my bed in her mind. who needs semblance when you have dust and pots and blackened paper. i like these tired eyes they make me pretty. good music and shots of adrenaline. it's all good here. a stream of thoughts that don't stem from the apparatus of my true honest brain. beautiful girls in my head. they dance and i do nothing. worst case scenario you leave forever. worst case scenario i forget about it all. very confused about the meaning of this song. i can't hold her up but i want to try. gotta hurt help everyone. promise those are words written on my thighs, they love for loving. want for nothing. words not my own, afraid to use them in a personal context because they're soaked and air-dried in the breath of another human brain. ouch. nothing more to say in these walls. her solicited words, i miss them selfishly. it's okay to miss the dark parts but don't let them handle you like rough calloused lumberjack hands on sore useless wood. i've been writing for a while now and my mind is circling the girl who was my poetry material. see my life drawls and grays when i'm not looking and i can't see it through the lens that i see her through. she's gone i guess i don't know entirely where i'm headed without all that purpose.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
recently, I took a ****
in a metal torpedo
flushed, washed and
checked my hairdo
before siting down
in cranked A/C
Wi-Fi accessing
songs by-the-million
and got solicited
a mid-air cocktail
not long ago
people were dying
on the Oregon Trail
and I could probably DL
that old crApple game
right now - at 34,000 ft -
buy some oxen and ****
before I die of dysentery
while I go from DC to FL
in two ******* hours
you know one day
kids are gonna be playing
21st-century games
wildwildwest replaced with
archaic world wars and
monopolistic rat races
wondering what it was like
to jet through the clouds
when you couldn't just
hop in your portal
to get wherever
whenever
every last bit
of what we take for granted
would seem nothing short
of witchcraftical magic
to eyes from past
because somebody
imagined that ****
and made it
happen
we are fingertips of God
spinning new worlds
on the threads of
our dreams
come spin
with me
please
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 9:11 PM UTC
An unsolicited cry for help
The bodies of brothers stacked as fences.
To separate I from you.
In attempt to erase black from the color spectrum.
There are no grey colors here.
Grief painted in rainbows.
Our *** of gold is the silencing of church bells ringing.
A solicited cry for help.
Oct 5, 2020
Oct 5, 2020 at 9:35 PM UTC
Why should I forgive
How can I forgive
If it is not solicited
Nor humbly requested
Unforgiving spirit troubles the mind
Unforgiving spirit makes you blind
You cannot honestly say you are fine
If forgiveness in your heart you cannot find
If only you know
How it harms you
If only you know
How it builds up your sorrow
Bitterness eats up your sweetness
Bitterness steals your happiness
If you cannot offer an unsolicited forgiveness
Then you cannot claim God’s peace and promises of successes
Don’t say it’s impossible
For God made Himself as our great example
Unsolicited forgiveness He offered to us
Through His one and only Son Jesus
Unsolicited forgiveness is not asked
It is freely given by those who know God
O yes, It is a gift
To the shattered heart it’s ready to lift
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 6:12 AM UTC
Shadow as proof of memory: the indistinct light spilling on the tablework together with smears of water. The smell of hair on his skin now is engraved as lesson. At the tip of her tongue is strange wonder. Said this inner life when it starts to crumble, you are witnessed in the soar. Bedraggled through the slope of the street, a hand, or a vestige.
Her bony prominences of hand kneaded to retain as memory – to be swallowed by the full procession after; stroke as compromise: as if mapping all out. This is not how it should happen. It would happen when a safe distance is maintained by two bodies: the other sleuthing, the other moving in finite directions. An end will be revelry.
– took whatever it was that cannot be contained by the body. Remember first when you took the dive
into the water, as if never to return again, together with silent fish and errant current.
Underneath the blue, light still casts shadow in interstices. Conveying weight
in water – your mouth as conduit, my body as land for the till and clearing. Or my longing. Or a soon to be discovered ambiguity. Skimming through your moving imperatives, telling me you cannot
commit to quantum movements. That in that event, the world will throw you
syncopated images, that it will give rise to your hiding altitude and lob you to vertigo.
Detachment as question. They must run. They must remain fugitives – to be unseen by the rest, and only themselves know their seams, symmetries, contours even in absences. Even the sky now is engorged with cirrus. Soon, like half-truth, or wildfire brash against green, the pallor will deface the atmosphere and give it unction of rain. Must they be reminded that they should run.
But you are in a city, and it is impossible to not be thrown out of line by another figure. Names will be given. Directories will be solicited. Voice necessary to halve
this blatant quiet. And then to remind you of your sudden place, they will build a map
or a bridge with their arms outstretched into the sky, looking at you with life brimming through
their eyes – the smoke of your departure once again curling in its fetal nature
against their brows. Everything you do and undo is a forecast of some liminal finality,
as if all of this is birthed by the same oblivion – and that all forgetfulness feels that same in different
cities that may or may not know your name. And that in changing season, there will
always be
a hand that will be held even in its tiniest detail – all of the shadows once
cast by your small body drunk in its proud altitude – we both
know whose hand I am thinking of
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC
You're all children with no brain feeling. You can read this again and still find premonitions.
Through Detterance the tension created prevention,
which made you write the wrong sentence ~~.>
this Modicum gratuity towards brain immunity
these methods of compiling information cannot be understated.
Only those HUNGRY will be saved from starvation.
Is that not the very trait that makes us create then?
**** being worried, it's just this lack of humility disturbs me.
listen to this I'm going to teach u how to fish
this lyrical fitness
I've
Never solicited for each word witnessed **** I look like selling trinkets?
I am naturally cruel to a ravenous fool,
for jealousy detours from my tools
you probably feel you can refute these rules.
what the **** is luck?
How can we discuss your savage
distrust?
I am the benevolency.
You're blinded by the gifts you have received. Allow me to speak figuratively.
This is the simple complex me.
A paradox in speech behold. MOON WATCHER, SPOON ****** Eclipse sensors from the Alef to the Ox goad who wants to play the fox role?
Not me, not I , not you.
The world is Full of RAVENOUS FOOLS
Emulating my alchemy just to create something new
my blessings are a curse to you....
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 10:18 AM UTC
Inside me carried on a little ******* I didn't
put stock in enchantment, however the *******
was a sucker for the stuff. Mystics,
illusionists, arthritics who'd foresee
the precipitation. That was the year I experienced difficulty
strolling. I over-thought it and proved unable
get the cadence right. The ******* re-showed me.
"This foot. Indeed, at that point that one. Also, swing
your arms as though you're going to trial
to be absolved of a wrongdoing
you've most unquestionably dedicated."
Next, inconvenience resting in light of the fact that
I'd have to wrench the generator in my chest
so much of the time. Seeing I was exhausted,
the ******* at last pulled it out—
it looked sparkly and new, a silver dollar—
also, hurled it into a rush of feathered creatures
who needed to fly far to discover well being.
I knew then I was an expansive and perilous man,
what with this ******* living inside me,
however, felt pointless. One day, amid
a last lesson on relaxing,
the ******* solicited what kind of pants
I was wearing. I stated, "The serious ones."
"Poor child." "So will you remain on
for a third year, ******* "No. I think
I ought to leave soon. I think
I ought to go and anticipate your landing next to
the folded waterway." "Yes, I assume
you have numerous vital issues to go to,
be that as it may, perhaps one day I will come and go along with you
for a drink, or maybe, for a short rest."
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 6:31 AM UTC
Happily adrift
at Carnival time
buffeted by babes
and tycoons in wine
I was brought up all standing
by a voice from the blue
that solicited quite rudely
Haiku for you?
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 6:18 AM UTC
No rocket surgeon,
nor brain scientist called upon
but only Rudolf the red nose reindeer
solicited as psychological mentor
yes...undoubtedly countless
decades removed since queer
(not very gay at all!)
****** changing phenomena
from thine angst riddled
biological metamorphosis allows me to peer
with greater theft of mine precious youth stolen,
via piercing overbear
ring mailer daemons,
when mine tender age did near
cusp whence onset of puberty
clapped development tight as if by
a doppelganger mutineer
warp and weft of mine lifetime tapestry
mine acute perception doth lear
as threads got tightly woven
into mine casual knitwear
though pubescent phase
wrought with oppressive foresight
interwoven with jeer
ring bullying hmm...maybe thine ability
to distill self actualization
extant among interlinear
teenage stage viewable
during my youthful days, but clouded over asper
mine more vivid perspective here
from this present moment
ha...amusing insight from present perch
devoid of adolescent glare
sire re: brill grade
do lobes gleam freer,
now with insight aye ear
rate at such pitch 'ere
perfect hindsight aye declare,
yet as a much younger self
when I hapt to be a boy, acuity seemed oblivious
to perceive via sight and sound
what social cues visceral, (visual,
and audiological) seems crystal clear
revisiting non verbal
awkward teenage mutant
ninja turtle memories, that now deafeningly blare
at the threshold of ear
splitting decibels, how hard of hearing human
(nada so) subtle in retrospect, I am aware
interpersonal nuances clear as the tune
Doris Day Que será, será
did voice, a catchy air.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 4:49 PM UTC
Solicited news runs on a treadmill,
and drips from the mug reading
Captured in Words
full of things i don’t want to know,
another ****** another corrupt business,
another hate crime, another attack,
another school shooting, another ****
another another another another another
It’s a loop i want to cancel out with my bluetooth headphones
while glaring at the world making assumptions
on my appearance.
Listening to the only music that makes me feel heard,
that makes the hungry, the crying, the insane feel
heard.
Can’t you hear me? The screams echoing around the empty
walls fabricated by your enthusiasm for |||||||||||||| Cages.
When i find the sanity i crave, you label it childish,
that i find hope in a face on the screen
what is wrong with you that you must also take away
what i cannot give myself?
Feed into the lies, feed into the apathy,
fed up with the screams and the silence,
you ask where i stand?
i lay on a path riddled with thorns
under a scorching, searing light
but i am not allowed to die
and you ask,
why i see a bleak future
or none at all.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 8:36 PM UTC
Haunt me you
In my sleep
Semi true
Bad-good Dreams
You are not inside who
Your outsides seem to be
But I am a girl
In girl’s clothing
Innocent dissident
Night holds me down
My submission solicited
Sideways somehow
My fall compounded
Repeated impact
Your memory the knife
Stuck in my back
Blood keeps us close
I give — you take
Misplaced love
Cannot be faked
Fantastic trust
Perfect mistake
Backward lust
Turned subconscious ****
Secrets decay inside of me
Lies too beautiful not to believe
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 1:31 PM UTC
A sunrise beckoned me
In contrast, to flee
An invitation earnestly endorsed
for lengthened had I lingered
a bona fide friend
lucidity it had painted
and a landscape captivating
Drop by drop,
had I rendered sightless
Bestowed with priceless emotions
deluged you, with
intentions distilled,
truly were
for you did capture them
at the rise
The once limpid scenery,
opaque, visionised today
the yellow smudged
a sunset to betide
A panic swelled within,
a grave slip-up implemented
for I strived to ameliorate it
Albiet,
Versimilitude solicited distance
I failed to proffer you with,
as the intent, stainless
and a heart devout
remorse, shall lie etched
for the landscape
entailed not remedy
though,
the desire for your understanding
was all I stipulated
Oct 30, 2019
Oct 30, 2019 at 12:46 PM UTC
While searching for unladen skies,
he came across a magpie resting in
a clear patch of swept dirt at his mangled feet.
(and here the story begins, don’t you think?)
Wait—
Do I intimidate you?
With my silken sashay of solicited yet lavish and rattled ramifications?
Complicated, complex logic behind words you don’t know—
words like sonder, opia, and undulate,
euphonious, sempiternal, and sisyphean.
You called them ‘fancy words’,
as if they are dressed for a masked ball and
in elegant suits and dresses, or someplace in-between,
they are dancing the waltz across marble mezzanines behind grey crenellations.
I’m not asking for the meaning of life or great quintessential and quaint questions,
but yet you ponder what’s after death before looking upon my countenance.
Do I require an irascible attitude in ninth grade, forced to be seen,
a scathing cascade of inward curses, each more extensive than the last?
******** ******* ************ and a variety of words meaning **** and ******
So ashamed to fail, as though I belong to a singular meaning and no other.
I tell you now, I am not
crisscrossed with sultry language and full of your ‘can’t’ attitudes.
Whether I make you work or lie in agony over a line,
the job is to provide not pain, but—
understanding, comfort, hiraeth, empathy,
a place for anger, loneliness, emptiness
and inexpressible language…
but as words are only one facet to this endless complication,
I think you should pay attention to the small things.
But I won't dictate your life,
I’m only a broken magpie confined to earth,
Clothed in feathers and ultimatums.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC