"subtitled" poems
"the sacred geometry of chance,
the hidden law
of a probable outcome"^
*so many days,
composing years of a book
of empty days
unlined with lines,
white on white pages,
subtitled
no joyous fear
of the
life changing chance taking
wrenching a thing past,
mostly forgot,
except for periodic
ache stabbing
you can't recall
the choices
that you didn't take
that got you here,
nowhere
the road split,
highway and river path,
always chose
incorrectly,
now
so past the younger days
question the lack,
no courage flaw,
what does it matter
anymore,
safe until death,
death having arrived
early on
always bore right,
when left was
the soul
go go
the chance right
un un taken
wanted needed accidents,
trip wires,
incendiary kisses
that rebirth
you one more time,
over over to
alive confirm
but fears of
breaking pain,
made you a broken man
the angles of life
obtuse,
the planes of life
flat fuzzy,
irregular, smudged,
flatlined
days drone by silent,
not a single word
out loud uttered,
three hundred and sixty degrees,
volume measured and
zero summed value
every normal distribution
has a tail,
some fat, some skinny
even this lonely man
has a tale
where the
improbable
is the most unlikely
day of likelihood
his days
were numbered,
they were,
each one had a number...
that day arrived,
calendar unremarked and unremarkable,
when
the hidden law of a probable outcome
saved,
the sacred geometry of chance
was rightly computed,
his number chosen
don't know this man personal,
heard the story from a mate,
third mate third
so third hand,
cause the other two were busy
one, holding her hand
and the other occupado
writing this poem
-----------------------
*A lyric from "Shape Of My Heart," as sung by Sting
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
Adam4's acquaintances who frequent
Foxholes as salivary soliloquy,
Usually suspected no second helpings
A dim ambience for an active bedroom
On battery powered candles
Concorde lighting
The carpet's edges chewed thin
Receding hairlines
And he uses me as bait..?
Our neglected puppy's teething
Nesting under California
King Mojo's hollowed cushions
Keeps him gnawing these nights
Misters and oil burners
I was mistaken, there are those
That revisit--reacquainted with him,
Must of shared a Starbucks,
As his Sasquatch hands
Rub wet platinum on his old fellow
Bears and their Cubs
Silicon smooth pets, house boys
Fished from the deep web,
Plagiarizing with their eyes the pleasures
Of Eurocreme
Bare back dreams, hours heave
The subtitled felatio scenes
I tell the old man, they only ***
After and mostly when
Most of the guest leave,
There is one hovering quick
To accommodate his
Ginger manly girth
I'll be out in the smoking section
At the side of the house
Through the slider door
From off the kitchen dining area
Where he had once
Replaced the table with billiards
For a Lenny and his troop...
His Samsung vibrates every time
I take a five to breathe
Chain smoke and self defocations grief
He posts another ad.
If only you heard
The vagrant shout
A banchee in my skull
For these off the street urchins
Plugged in to the internet's latest
For a place to squat
For winter will be cold
For them to just
****** off
And here I go again,
Assuming that these were decent folk
Come for the holidays
Between taint and pocket rocket
Wallets drain
When one lets the desperate
Indigents
Free range...
"What's there for dinner?"
**** chicken heads again?
Same ole same old dope...
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
They make you feel so happy
in your sad, miserable life
and you wish you could try them
and just take few
you only have those few options
to be happy
one bang
on the ground
two shots
in your head
three strikes
in your neck wrist and heart
four swallows
and the tears
You can lay it on the table
and stare at it
or convince yourself
that its not worth it
maybe they shouldve left earlier
then youd already be on the ground
in a pool of blood
and a sheet of paper
next to your head
titled: "in a happy place"
and subtitled "which isnt called earth"
then everything would be simple
and everybody would be happy
cause youre gone
and all thats left is
a sheet of paper
an empty room
a pool of blood
a cold body
and a ****** knife
with an empty pill bottle next to it
But they didnt leave earlier
like you wanted
and now its your decision to make
hopefully you choose the one
with the least suffering
because your main decision is already chosen
it always has been
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
Part 1
We count our wishes like lottery tickets
And though we may never quite get the odds right
The fantasies keep us coming back...
Like hummingbird retreats
We know the way
The way
Impulsive can meet rational
Then flip you back to naive
The way growing up can feel like
A subtitled movie
Where the words switch
Before you manage to finish rea...
Or how hope will keep you begging
Like the starving stray dogs
Who strut like lions
Yet love like lambs
Now we're pleading with the hourglass
Like kids convincing Santa we're worthy
I can't promise I am
Part 2
But I have this wish
(Just call me crazy)
That this love could look something less like maybe
And In this wish
You'd teach me to harvest
A green thumb rooted in something more honest
We'd live off the land
Grow something withstanding
The type of living
Earths future will be demanding
We'd pick our food day by day
Eat like gods
And treat each other just that way
I see coffee soaked mornings
And breakfast outside
With that smirk on your face
And a blush I can't hide
Part 3
So there it is
Plain and true
(and maybe I've got a ***** loose, or two)
But this lottery ticket wish
Has my sights narrowed thinner
And I've got to believe that it's a winner
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 7:47 PM UTC
I.
No one writes poetry about you. You are
an enigma, you are an enigma of unreality and
displeasing angles, too many
bones inside a shell covered with marks you
put there yourself on the best of days on the
worst of days the days you
can't remember.
II.
You watched a Swedish film once called
"Boys" and you think about it often because when
they said the word "homosexual" it was subtitled as
****** and when they said the word "transgender", the subtitles
said "tranny". You are like those subtitles
in your own head, over and
over.
III.
You'll make a film someday and you will
yell the word ****** from an overpass, and you preface it
with "I am a", and you will make it
poetry.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 12:42 AM UTC
I, pod
blessed of this age
that bequeaths me the power
to give each day a soundtrack
An imp out on a digital rampage
click
the trees barely had time to be leafy
click
gotcha! random bloggable ***
curled asleep is a poem
subtitled in dusty letters
tomorrow is another playlist
the unhappy will all dance
everybody is gonna dance
when I go out the door
to face my i-world, I, pod
hit it!
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 9:09 PM UTC
I sat on Facebook in the forest,
birds tweet and retweet.
I check my email again,
birds tweet and retweet.
there's an empty to-go cup
lying in the ditch next to the trail
DOI CHANG emblazoned across
its tubular length, ethically traded
subtitled below.
I whip out my camera, the world around me
solipsist phantasmagoria; the shutter closes
and I don't believe I exist until I see the
photo
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
I've written so many,
Some grandiose, some terse,
And published them here,
To express and converse.
But the most pretentious of all
You've read or passed over,
Is The Invisible Poem,
Subtitled, Blank Verse.
Some gave it their blessings,
Some cried foul, and some cursed.
Isn't brevity the soul of wit; (Shakespeare)
Writing is 1% inspiration, 99% elimination; (Louise Brooks)
To write good poems is the secret of brevity; (Dejan Stojanovic)
So,
Be sincere. Be brief. Be seated. (FDR)
Take it as is,
For better or worse.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 2:48 PM UTC
4/7/14
Lazily shifting through the internet on a moon milk rain day. I come across a video that relentlessly grips my attention. A man in front of a webcam holding an ice cream dream drum stick and a pocket acetylene torch. Througout the rest of this sequence the man I am watching stares into the camera without blinking, smiling, breathing, or speaking. He ignites the torch in his left hand and uses it to light the tip of the dreamy ice cream. The ice cream remains lit as a cigar. Remaining steadfast in his ridgid posture, he passes the lit cone to his dog. His dog is a female chocolate lab named Gurny of Galil-Bruce-Lee. She holds it in her mouth, but refuses to inhale. Although she does not desire to smoke this treat, she is extremely appreciative of her partner's gesture. After savouring the smokey tastey of the cone for a few minutes. She ashes it out what I think is my knee cap because it is now missing, but to me that matters least. I must see what happens. Doctors can't help me anyway. Gurny reaches into her apparently existant pockets and pulls out the cutest pair of reading glasses for dogs. She slowly approaches a desk to the right of her owner. Quickly sitting down and pulling out paper work and pens. A subtitled bark emits from her mouth that reads "Cray, where is your W-2?" The man doesn't break form. With a long sigh, Gurny shifts through the desk until she finds the paper. After flicking on an old radio, she proceeds to do his taxes, but not using an EZ form. Gurny turns to the camera and mentions that this is how a dog should thank their owner. Gurny does all the math, paper work, and double checks her math before pulling out her check book and paying what he owes to the government. My vision is fading, I'm losing too much blood. I have to hold out. This man must break before me. I will defeat him. I will have Gurny's love. But in all truth, I have nothing. Not even knees for you to make weak. I am what I have and always been. Darkness encroaching in my sight. Give in. He can't see, nor can the rest of world. I tell you what, it really isn't as cold as you think it will be.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
( )
/ >> \ / << \
/ \ / \
X
& he said
THIS IS ALL GETTING TOO MUCH !
TOO STALE ! TOO BORING !
TOO EVIL ! TOO STIFLING !
WE GOT TO BREAK OUT !
GO A NEW WAY !
WE GOT TO CHANGE !
WHAT CAN WE DO TO RENEW OURSELVES !!
///
She pondered long and hard
WELL
she finally said
I BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT TOO
WHAT I THINK IS
MAYBE WE SHOULD START HAVING **** ***
//
His eyes flew open in admiration and wonder !
THAT 'S IT !
he said
THAT 'S IT ! .
|||||~~~~~~|||||
This poem is subtitled
TWO HELLO POETRY POETS
CONTEMPLATING
THE REVOLUTION
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
She wants you to know
That she's not the same person you knew a year ago
That she no longer stays up until the end of time
Just to wait and read about your **** reply
She’s still indecisive about what to wear on Sundays
But she no longer needs your advice;
Unsolicited or not
She stays awake until the AM watching subtitled movies,
Not because of that text you sent
Or any other ********
Also she no longer creeps on that girl's Facebook
and yours too, for that matter
That she sometimes cry
But it's no longer because of you
That life is hard and she still has a long road to go
But she does not mind spending it without you
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC
Eating lunch alone.
All tables are numbered
and each meal standardised.
I used to have someone
to distract me from the subtitled news
and the taste of microwaved mashed potato.
I fear I am growing old and mute.
The dole comes in but all funds are withdrew
before the chance to purchase a smile
or a new pair of shoes.
I have been walking in circles and perimeters
for too long now
but to sit and sit alone
is more painful than blisters and a bruised sole.
I miss the company
of clinking glass and snorts of laughter
between tasteless bites.
I chose coffee over beer today.
At least that is something.
But sobriety only expands the view
and makes these empty spaces
even harder to fill.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
So many times in life
Have my eyes deceived
My heart has coerced me the wrong way
Down paths unyielding of self-deprecation
In eyes of pressured sight
concluding the colours of beauty
To be the ones I am told;
Not the ones I actually gape upon
Foreign film now dubbed in unpleasing vocal falsities
No longer subtitled
As music suddenly gleeful overtakes folky routes, now vanish
Where did I go to hide
Suspended space and time, for how long, I know not
Just waiting for someone to say
I will save you
And there you rose
To remind me that olive grey is my favourite
That the gravelly thump of blues can make me shine
That loneliness is never loneliness
When within your heart I stay
On my sweet
How we watch this world through Paris eyes
Two minds wrapped in one another
I never sleep without you
For even in loss you appear in dream.
Wonderful points in which we change
Change in self-awareness
Confidence in portraits we paint each other
Hold me in your thoughts
For with you I cling to love
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
As they sow
so
shall they reap
you
ought to keep
that in mind.
empty vessels do
make the most sound
and that's why it's so noisy,
too many
empty vessels around?
I'm talking management skills
half of them crazy
half taking pills
skills?
I can do that.
So as they sow
we will bend and we'll bow
but they should expect
a poor
harvest.
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 3:31 AM UTC