"stigmas" poems
“Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. I only just heard the sad, sad news of Robin Williams’s death. My wife sent me a message to tell me he had died, and, when I asked her what he died from, she told me something that nobody in the news seems to be talking about.
When people die from cancer, their cause of death can be various horrible things – seizure, stroke, pneumonia – and when someone dies after battling cancer, and people ask “How did they die?”, you never hear anyone say “pulmonary embolism”, the answer is always “cancer”. A Pulmonary Embolism can be the final cause of death with some cancers, but when a friend of mine died from cancer, he died from cancer. That was it. And when I asked my wife what Robin Williams died from, she, very wisely, replied “Depression”.
The word “suicide” gives many people the impression that “it was his own decision,” or “he chose to die, whereas most people with cancer fight to live.” And, because Depression is still such a misunderstood condition, you can hardly blame people for not really understanding. Just a quick search on Twitter will show how many people have little sympathy for those who commit suicide…
But, just as a Pulmonary Embolism is a fatal symptom of cancer, suicide is a fatal symptom of Depression. Depression is an illness, not a choice of lifestyle. You can’t just “cheer up” with depression, just as you can’t choose not to have cancer. When someone commits suicide as a result of Depression, they die from Depression – an illness that kills millions each year. It is hard to know exactly how many people actually die from Depression each year because the figures and statistics only seem to show how many people die from “suicide” each year (and you don’t necessarily have to suffer Depression to commit suicide, it’s usually just implied). But considering that one person commits suicide every 14 minutes in the US alone, we clearly need to do more to battle this illness, and the stigmas that continue to surround it. Perhaps Depression might lose some its “it was his own fault” stigma, if we start focussing on the illness, rather than the symptom. Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. He died from Depression*. It wasn’t his choice to suffer that.”
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
What does it mean to be a Chicano/Latino in the US?
What does it mean to be Black in the US?
What does it mean to be a minority in the States?
You know what that means...it means that we have a lot to prove
As in the words of Booker T. Washington:
"When a white boy undertakes a task,
it is taken for granted that he will succeed.
On the other hand, people are usually surprised
If the ***** boy does not fail. In a word, the ***** youth
starts out with the presumption against him."
Now in a society where institutionalized racism,
Or racism without racists, prevails
We are disenfranchised from even being considered youth.
We are a bunch of wetbacks, idiots, moron...you name it,
Where failure is expected of us...
...but enough is enough, we should not abide to the stereotypes
And stigmas that society stamps on our foreheads.
As a matter of fact, I do not ever recall giving this white patriarchal society
My blessing to call me whatever the **** it decides to call me.
We are here to take manners into our own hands, here to do whatever the heck our heart desires.
We are here to create the change that we wish to see in the world.
We are here to become the few & growing positive statistics that we fight for.
We are here to create voice and shed the light on those wins that we take to our hearts.
No one is here here to reflect the stereotype that this ****** up society
Tries to slap us with on an everyday basis.
We are here to change perception of who we are and where we stand in society.
We are positive statistics...not a stereotype.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
I want crazy, I want cranky
Let me be that old woman who gets mad easily
Let this misogynistic society grow so great it will never be over oh no
Crush me, objectify me
Romanticize the way I dehumanize myself
Discriminate me
I am the stigmas, don't free them from me
I will drink your *** and be happy
Break me, let me crumble
I am a lump of inedible meat
Make a bet on my rushing blood
Don't lose, don't lose oh you will win for sure
Just say it and ***** on my mouth
Don't let me have worth without you
I am lesser than a slave, don't let me stare at your eyes
Play with my broken bones, cut my veins as you please
Make me beg, step on me
I am watermarked and it says your name
And yes this heart beats for you to stop
It can start again if you say so
You are the God, just do everything you want, just do everything you want
I can't not take it
I am inanimate
I am inanimate
I am inanimate
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
these thoughts...
they are my own,
walled within the deepest recesses
of my
cerebral labyrinth.
sprouting out of vine covered walls,
are multicoloured blooms
brandishing thorned stems
and
thirsty stigmas,
dripping with
absinthe.
mind full of poison in
permissible amounts...
i am caught in a
web of restless stupor,
anguish...
and regression...
these thoughts...
rationed out sparingly,
for they're not for unready ears
blooms of thought meticulously
triaged before
necessary expulsion.
hairline cracks between
insanity
and peace...
i tread precariously
the fine,
meandering line.
still clutching my flowers
in a tight obstinate grasp...
not letting go
for these tainted blossoms
are
undoubtedly
mine.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 6:42 AM UTC
American Democracy
is setting a trend:
American Democracy
is a Sitcom, or perhaps a Game Show
of demagogic, narcissistic sociopaths
tricking and manipulating the Public
via various sources in a highly consolidated Media industry
into thinking they vote for a particular flavor of Tyranny
when in reality Today's flavor of Tyranny is all decided for you
because the burden of Choice is far too stressful
for the Moderner without proper medication,
and the power of Choice may require some sort of educated critical Thinking,
some sort of re-edification
which is far too much for us to handle
in this socially sanctioned doped-up state
and with such an intentionally failing Education system
from K through 12 and beyond.
With American Democracy,
We have a grand Illusion of Choice.
It's so convincing that many believe the Illusion is True.
(Sort of like hew we think of Reality, but with Choice of Government!)
For American Democracy,
They don't want mass Education.
They don't want mass Edification.
They don't want Critical Thinking;
Those things prevent a Control by few.
In American Democracy,
They intentionally destroy progresses made, like Rights,
They perpetuate stigmas about things like genders and the concept of "race" itself
They propagate Terror as their Sheeple scream from the sidelines for more
They defile the sanctity of Human Experience, of Reality itself
and chain us to a system that benefits only a few
while destroying everything else,
like Climate and Environment.
These Demagogues are Satan, if Satan is real:
They tempt us with the things we don't need,
filling us with Stress, Desires, Prejudices and Fears,
and ceaselessly wage war on institutions of Education,
all the while keeping us from finding the things we already have within each of us.
This System of American Democracy
has degraded into a corrupted fractal
of the ages-old ways of Tyranny and Terror:
Aristocracy, Plutocracy,
Patriarchy, Oligarchy,
Kleptocracy, Demagoguery,
Bankocracy, Corporatocracy,
Fascism;
Tell me,
What is the ******* difference?
I mean,
even Adolf ****** was elected democratically
under the pretense of "Change"
then, for weeks later, suspended civil rights indefinitely
after a likely false-flag 'attack' on the Reichstag in 1933,
(for which the Nazis blamed the communists.)
under the pretense of "Security":
Demagoguery runs Amok
Among disedified Minds.
They say "Freedom" and "Democracy"
as if it vindicates their Totalitarianism.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
Upper East Side
The Hamptons
Aspen, Colorado
The plastic people
Follow each other
Moving in herds
Like cattle to the
Slaughter
Drifting
Floating
Shifting focus
From one charity event
To another
Whatever’s trendy
Whatever’s fashionable
Whatever’s happ’ning
Whatever’s the need
Tainted new artists
Society’s rejects
The film-maker who fits in with
The flavor of the month
The disease or the cause
That captures the moment
Stigmas overlooked
Deformities relieved
By one hyper exertion
By one pseudo good deed
Changing bedrooms
Changing partners
New alliances
Noblesse oblige
Mrs. Astor’s
Four hundred
Reinvented forever
Reinvented with fervor
On the edge
Of hypocrisy
Keeping up with the Jones’s
Maintaining the houses
Paris, Rome, Cote du Jura
Malibu, Palm Beach
Couture fashion
Madison, Rodeo
Worth avenues united
Avenues of the liege
Location, location, location
The right address unspoken
Dinner in the right places
Sporting events to be seen
Three martini luncheons
Halcion evenings
Business is business
Where money’s retrieved
Look to plastic people
For fashionable guidance
No matter the moment
No matter the need
Remember to catch them
While jetting to Santa Barbara
Saint Maarten, San Troupe
San Marco, warp speed
They live in their milieu
Can’t function outside it
Can’t follow a shadow
That others believe
It’s easy to find them
They leave behind footprints
But barely a mem’ry
Or singular creed
Other than finding
The latest in fashion
The latest persona
Or new plastic breed
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:19 AM UTC
Here’s to us
to the next generation
Here’s to us
to the first generation with shorter life expectancies than our parents
to the next generation to create the most lethal weapon
Here’s to us
to another generation that is perpetuating stigmas around *** and ****** preferences
to the next generation to create cancer causing chemicals
Here’s to us
to another generation keeping racism and sexism alive
And here’s to us
to the next generation to **** up the next generation!
Yeah, here’s to us and all the distress
we cause
Yeah, and here’s to us and all the mess
we cause
No!
Here’s to us
to the next generation
Here’s to us
to the generation craving to live deeply and fully
to the next generation that will fight for our rights as blacks and whites
Here’s to us
to the generation that understands that sexuality is fluid
to the next generation to walk for; work for cures
Here’s to us
to another generation of protests agains lies and fights won with mighty pens
And here’s to us
to the next generation to create the next generation.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
Then :
Stigmas shredding this rough frame
Strips of blood
boiling, wanting to explode
I feel their anger
I hear their shrieks, their war cries
I don't listen.
These monsters and me
are at war.
Now :
Soft pink caressing this canvas
Calm rivers
nurturing, bring it to life
I feel their peace
I hear their hummings, their odes
I sing with them
my stretch marks and me
are one.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 1:45 PM UTC
It's an animal beastly thing wrapped up warm in stigmas headlines daydreams sleepdreams ice cream headspin. pain.
Sirens call in my upper chest or my abdomen, maybe. a ****** sea. fish of mens' hooks eels and seaweed wound around aorta blood pumping mind squeezing toes cracking new blister dried fluid. cracks and flakes a flushing cycle, not over the **** yet.
salty eyes heavy chest silver parcels unending quest not shiny particles. Head spin crack of dawn hey look the moon is gone. observed the craters they were my neighbours a hole in my heart like the one......
Don't play mean i try and try green bean carrot pencil brush pen, still here? Run! too hard. Curdling scream turns sour on my tastebuds my tongue has been dissatisfied. Add it to the list! lately I know these things should not have been acknowledged. Bed. No. Kitchen work? Yes. Hurts me through and through and I know it's because it is me and it cannot be handled but it settled in the pit of my stomach and it made itself a happy home. I HATE IT.
BLOOD:
*juice
gore
cruor
claret
hemoglobin
sanguine fluid
clot
plasma
vital fluid*
why would I ever use blood?
Porous salt bruises help mind chooses slugs and moths but i want insects like ladybird bees. Keep me weak and feed me lies because not once did you see me you only looked right past me. how does it feel, little peach, to be dishing out bowls of dinky lies. i ate it you were trusted you were good there's just so many people coming.
when the moon rises and the sky twinkles lights about you its easy to be sad but its time for you to blossom
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
we have been stripped from this
from this discerment between
what is
intimate and private and public
and a spectacle
of its own
social stigmas and rules and plots
should they be followed, or
understood
?
all should be seen but
none should be witnessed
by the
distant ever-present all-encompassing
eyes
of the people
Jun 27, 2011
Jun 27, 2011 at 3:57 PM UTC
At the going down of the sun
will the world be less complete,
the cinched robe of night less intolerable,
as she ebbs away on cosmic string,
emulating a massless, dazed neutrino
blinking in and out of existence,
unobserved and uneffected,
liquored and unloved?
In the wake of a June flowering,
when foxglove lures the honeybee
in six day flash, bud to corolla,
blossom to blossom, parade of stigmas,
digitalis stamen braved, anther at his back,
the bee comes gathering where none else dare.
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC
(history)
Quell the bard was silken-clad and ever young.
her flute connected earth and sky,
tamed lightning in the higher notes..
her ancient horse would winnie to her song
of endless breath she blew her story even into stone.
having borne the stigmas of a *****
her martial prowess struck,
trampled disrespect to cacophonic dust
while over hills and vales he carried her--
a love-sick equine heart at peace at last upon the road
between her thighs, commanded loyalty of beasts and men.
none claimed her for their own,
though some risked instant death to try
..stirge beaks tap on bones and rock
to seek corrupted blood of elven kings,
who having reigned and fallen
to a royal troglodyte of dragon times,
paint each eon with ambivalence...
i conjure what my heritage beholds
--reclusive double-tongue to hoard all words,
reinvent religions for a lark
what legend am i privy to the making of
that hasn't had its underwires stripped,
hung about a square in lewd display of Fact
to purge a sense of mystery awry?
i am alone within my fantasy.
its symbols still mythologize my i.
i will not bare it here, or anywhere--
concealment is its freedom, and its boon--
in which a frame of tenuous material appears
where antidote addictions cycle musically,
the timeline's summoning
a game of recompense, compensating wanderlust
won by whim and licorice for thought;
it finds familiarity untamed--
adolescent anchorage aweigh--
adventures into wildernesses lost
.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 1:56 PM UTC
i'm walking down the street
bare feet, without a care
**** uber, metro, I hate public transportation,
i'm dirtying up this sidewalk, for a few years already
i'm writing down a will, in my mind, close to my eyelids,
because i'm on the wrong side of my mind
i feel sick, tasting the bitterness of humanity
when I wipe mankind on the side of the pavement,
at the very deep, there's masculinity mixed with *****
i'm walking down a bridge full of empty shells
i pass hordes of girls who are smiling insincerely
and again, i feel a boost in my veins
and again, i'm louder than mirrors
and as in the mirrors, voidness space,
and it is me, who takes the best from it
i absorb this poisoned air.
In the ears of mine, i can hear electro heat,
i feel like one man one Jean-Michel Jarre,
rain is pouring through me, sticks to me like fog,
i wrap myself in the warmth of two MDMA's,
someone glances surreptitiously and steals my soul,
you have a backpack full of cash, i have a suitcase full of emotions,
i'm going on a journey through the cursed city
like a hermaphrodite with a broken rod,
streets, like stigmas, cry with hollow screams,
in front of clubs content abortions on the sidewalk,
let's leave this lie, like the walking dead
assertiveness and pride to the gutter washed away.
And again, this booster is kindling my veins
i'm dirtier than a new jerusalem
and similar to it, i'm sticking to everything
and so I'm taking the most out of my heart
and I absorb this poisoned air once again.
and so the booster flows through the aorta
it is flooding my tarred heart,
destination reached.
and my wallet is shimmering with bitter crystal
nothing will change the course of this chemistry,
betrayed. betrayed by their own bodies
vidi, no vici, veni on its own,
and i'm catching a laugh, standing still in the subway
i am still absorbing poisoned air.
hatred.
jealousy.
i've seen enough.
today, in my city, sun rises in the morning.
you will remember this day forever or forget it for eternity.
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC
I waited for an elevator
It was an exceptionally long pause,
And there was a group of three arguing
Over the meaning of a clause.
I knew the answer to their query,
But questioned if I should reply.
Social stigmas can be strange
So I decided to be shy.
They searched their minds,
They racked their brains,
And I just stood there -
The answer boiling on my tongue.
My elevator arrived just then,
And I reluctantly stepped inside.
The doors closed slowly, slowly,
And I heard their voices die...
...So it is with my faith.
Many people are searching
And I have the answer,
But I am too afraid to speak.
So I step inside an elevator,
And lift myself above their problems
Pridefully rejecting the searching
Of those who need an answer.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 8:36 PM UTC
There was a fog that seemed to hover thickly
over the perceived salience of his musings
It was as if there were a veiled mystique
that left hopeful understanding ,
ambiguously obscured ...
His soul's cadences fell beyond the pale ,
like a reverberant iron bell’s clamor ,
drowning acumen ;
albeit , unmistakabe crystal clear allusions ,
scanning inwardly, rhapsody in his mind's eye
Illusive accord ,
beclouded by seeming stigmas
borne of the flesh ;
delicately sensitive nuances ,
misunderstood imperfections ,
bespoken utterance weighed heavy upon heart ...
In the hush of pensive repose ,
flow of soul streamed forth from its retreat within ;
bequeathed as if darkness
was magnetically drawn towards light ,
purging muted understanding ...
Assuredly seeking all questions with verve ,
accepting , that all answers sought
are not meant to be understood
A realization of those who wish to speak yet abide unspoken ;
the unseen mark of those that wished they had been loved ,
befallen the music of a thundering heartbeat ,
understanding a circle is vulnerable ,
only makes it stronger ―
hence ,..
it had been written
in countless misunderstood ways ...
Knowing he resists an inner-voice to endure silently
for a fear of that which remains indelibly writ ,
tattooed on introspective walls
far removed from the afterglow of light ,
where depth of soul yearns to be freed ;
heart speak hushed , deft words avowed
in enigmatic tongues ― Vayu doth whisper
soul's prevailing tides ebb and flow
from unseen depths , permeating
deeply within inner realms
The spirit of soul once steeped his heart’s intone :
"Spell words that bind together passing strangers
*Coalesce thoughts to inspirit those whom often walk alone
Append the goodwill of poetry, aspiring to bond individual
hearts and minds with words of love and light.
Conjure written spells to bespeak sincerely ,
a faith in unabated love*"
and yet , he will write it again and again ,.. searching beyond words
…words grasped from emerging thoughts
drawn in to the light
searching for other adept words
to recite yet another way ,
sketch another word-scape ,
written with the relentless inexhaustibleness
of an unstoppable awakening ...
Another winter dawn imbues a new day come to light
he will write it again and again ,
... finding another way to be set free ...
Harlon Rivers
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
When did feminism become a taboo?
When did equality become uncool
Men not superior to females
Us not superior to them too.
When did I become the taboo?
When did this become uncool.
So I wish we are all square and blue
true, it'd make dating difficult
but what'd you do,
you'd talk to people
true
*** would be awkward
too angles
too many rights
won't create create the sweetest wrong
but at least we'd break the taboo
No colour
No gender
No looks
apart from the individuals descriptions
Believe: I am female
I am male
without doing a cursory glance up
and down
believe: I am intelligent
I am creative
without checking my pigment or
my ****
because I am done with it
I am tired non-acceptance
Snap decisions
Stubborn judgements
it's nothing personal
No, you made it personal
You stole a personality
Smeared it
Said it was wrong
Said I didn't belong.
So I wish we were square and blue
No stereotypes
No stigmas
No ***
cos maybe we don't deserve it yet.
If all we see are
pigment
genitals
and stereotypes.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
To be a Mrs Joe
or become a lady
Havisham?
I weep for him
I weep for him
I weep for him and me.
I lose tears salted with his stress
or his concealed thoughts plugging up
his brilliant mind
i weep
about him, about me
about us
there's no shame in being pure
we're all pure at once
there's no shame.
To him there is.
in the doubts of his voice and tongue
there is shame.
i love him.
i love him with everything i have
everything i see
everything i believe or know
i willingly give to him but
he loves me not.
ill slip him some purple petals
dipped in yellow stigmas or become
a ghost of a girlfriend.
a ghoul of a lover.
one insignificant link in a long shackled chain of
exs
forever bound in his vast memory and mind
as
***** "cow" **** "ungrateful" "unworthy"
Am I Cleoparra?
Mrs Joe? Havisham?
Estella?
I have no twinkling green eyes
i have no slender waist or
vast, indefeatable wit
i have no enigmatic undeniable beauty
That would quake the heavens and make angels sing and string Apollo's lyre
or beam such light that would Diana's breast
i am insignificant
.unspecial.
he is special.
i believe in no such god
but he would be my proof
my tear of hope
a small ray of belief and defiance
tearing apart a black unbelieving universe
i am a passing pair of peepers
he'll see a million as insignificant as i
ill only know a love like this
once.
For him.
he should live forever
he will
if not this world in a wasteland
am i Estella?
Cleopatra? Mrs Joe?
Miss Havisham?
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
Halloween is the one day a year all the people with stigmas against Cosplay drop it and Cosplay also.
Funny how stigmas are dropped if there happens to be an established cultural holiday.
Can you say "subconscious cultural double standards"?
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 1:55 AM UTC
I wonder sometimes
What it is the that people see
When they look at me
What it is that people notice first
It never ceases to amaze
Just how many seem to have
A hard time really classifying me
I think that we tend to classify people in general
Its often very easy to just
To automatically make assessment off of what we see
We almost have a harder time
Dealing with the people that are ambiguous
That we can't classify right away
Than the people that seem to fit
The stereotypes
Or are preconceived ideas
About how we think
People should behave
Or even look
And if people don't
Automatically fit
Into our neat little boxes
And into a neat little
Classification
Its almost like we repel those people
Somehow it scares us to see people
That don't fit into our ideas
Our ideals of normalcy that is based
On social constructs that we have
Built ourselves
I think we need to step
Away from putting people
In small boxes
We need to start really
Looking at people
Getting past the stigmas
And the social constructs
That we put on certain people
And seeing the person for who they are
Everyone is lost in their own ways
We all could use a little help here and there
But when you automatically
Shun someone
Or push someone aside
Based on superficial constructs
You ultimately end up alienating them
But you are ultimately alienating yourself
Living in lies and false fears
That are based on false precepts in the first place
We all want to be seen as people
We all want to have our own voices
To have our own views
Without worrying about being judged
Or classified by anyone
We are all human
We all deserve to be treated as such
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
I bury exhaled consistency,
the branch
cultivated by stigmas
locked to stock.
Back to the trenches
To be digested by
A faded blue
of obsession
for depression
Enamored
with culpability.
Ingested as scattered
Parables punctuated with
Shadowed flaws forthwith
Swept over by sponsors
Who fix; protect.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
sadness how could I ever forsake
the sacred?
indeed child sometimes
we seem to forget
where we come from
on our way to where we are
our current plans for tomorrow
i never forgot
i just didn't always remember.
stigmas of the past
social tap dance transgressions
left me aghast; mouth agape
confused marinating
it never mattered,
nothing did.
that was the motto
life long LSD lessons to follow
at times not adequate
others still so hollow
make room for others
and make room for tomorrow
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 2:28 PM UTC
I linger in
absolute dedication
for your sanctioned
words to me.
Your cuneiform gives me life
when all
of mine has
been suctioned dry
I am a budding tulip,
to the earth
the propinquity
of its butterfly effect
With each ripple
the beautiful insect of the world
***** the very soul
out of my being
You, my dear
pollinate each of my
empty stigmas
with your cloying words
Sticking to my dry soul
with an ease that can only mean
in sufferance,
we will find our happenstance
*Leave your unease at the door
you have no need for it with me,
love.*
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
Last night's Wim Wenders film Wings of Desire, not starring Adam
Sandler,
great in the great tradition of Metropolis, Fellini, Children of
Paradise, Ikiru, Open City.
This is not comedy though it can be funny overhearing people
thinking,
the randomness of thought, data dots, circles with dots, sadness and
silliness,
silly sadness, confusion, rarely a clear thought, not one logical
lucid progression. Deep art.
I'd like to do better than my best so far, write something with
hydroxyapatite
that won't gather dust then become dust a neuron of sweetness,
an early morning bicyclist, a lost ghost or fallen angel
any form from which death might abstain or forego appetite.
Appearing to meander from subject to subject is my practice.
Looking for solutions to the equations. Learning the changes then
forgetting them.
The expressions emanating from mortal minds are broken stamens,
sticky stigmas.
Striving for immortality,
some Spanish philosopher (who looks like Don Quixote)
says he understands and it's alright.
I will read what he wrote and probably agree
but is he immortal? Not his body, but his thoughts.
True, I say, but this also: Not his mind, but his thoughts. Unchanging
and finite. Put them in a hatbox and pass them on as heirlooms.
To overhear the secret thoughts of others. Sharing and unsharing
electrons, disrobing
and bathing. That is the purpose of poetry. Gargoyle twice. Did Wim
give each thought its own voice or use the same voice for all thoughts,
every whim.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
Could thou, sweet flower, grow in any garden
besides that closest to mine, just past the fence
that bounds my lush, ever-growing heart? And
weak shrubs cannot veil you, for lucid scents
prevent and taunt my tangled garden, green
and always lacking. At times I descry
those delicate petals kissed with color
and wonder – and wonder what could have been
had I not left your strong seeds out to dry,
had I overcome two stigmas' azure.
Regret is such a reoccurring dream.
I would soon whack redwoods and evergreens
that overflow my empty flower bed
and plant my cherished flower there instead.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC