"summing" poems
She stands at a cross roads, looking from left to right, trying to decide which path to take
She turns to the left, where she sees a dark and dismal sky, where the path breaks up into tiny shards of gravel
She then turns to the right, where she sees a pleasant blue sky marked with wispy white clouds, where the path transforms into even blocks of cobblestone
Could she, struck with life's hardships, caught in life's desolation, choose the path which will lead her home?
Her eyes drift to and fro, summing up both paths, attempting to decide on just one
Should she choose a path of dark or light, tragedy or happiness, cloudiness or sunshine?
Her mind confused, she kneels on the ground, folds her arms, and sends a message from her heart to the One who will guide her home.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC
Just what do we know about
Ward Churchill?
That radical agitator,
That Colorado college professor
Most famous for calling
Twin Tower 9/11 dead technocrats
Little Eichmanns.
Noteworthy is the fact that
The United States Supreme Court
Denied certiorari,
Passed on hearing his claim of
Unlawful discharge.
Unlawful discharge?
Sounds felonious and vile:
Like pus laced with *****
A criminal secretion, like mucus
Smuggled past Customs:
Vaginal contraband.
Sorry, Ward.
We just don’t give a ****
Your fake Indian pedigree,
Your bogus Vietnam fairytales,
Your phony combat record,
Your forward ops recon
Way out in ******* Cambodia,
Fall flat like Buffalo turds.
You’ve been slick, Ward.
Hired originally to fill
Some gratuitous affirmative action quota,
Denied tenure in two legitimate departments,
You create some ******** academic discipline
For campus freaks & geeks.
Self-appointed Department Chairman,
A fraudulent college professor from the start,
Once tenured, a courageous warrior for free speech.
Describing Native American history as genocide.
Summing up American history as Holocaust denial.
Professor Churchill was all of these things,
And less.
But using the Holocaust metaphor
To anchor one’s fakakta politics?
That was the proverbial last straw,
The camel buster, if you will.
Especially since most of the
Stockbrokers & market analysts
Crushed in the rubble were Jewish.
Hava Nagila, Babaloo!
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
Acrostic poem
C
Challenges often hold within them opportunities
Changing the angle of view can make a lot of difference
Clean your eyes and clear your mind
Choose what you see amongst the myriad of images
H
Having a positive mindset
Half solves a lot of problems
Housed within you is an unimaginable amount of power
Harness it, choose not to cower
A
Attitude is everything, they say
Appreciate and be grateful that you can at least see this day
A grateful heart is positioned to receive answers
And blessings usually fall into such laps
L
Limitations are first created in the mind
Look always on the bright side of life
L
Lion (King/Queen) you are in the midst of it all
Life and everything in it works together for your good
E
Encourage yourself each and every day
Elevate God above what you're going through
Excellent He is in all His ways
Express your faith in Him and He will pave a way
N
Never succumb to the voices in your head
Never hesitate to ask for help
No single person knows it all
Night will surely pass for morning to arrive
G
Giving up is the easiest option but
Greatness doesn't lie in that route
Give no room to deceptive thoughts
Garrison your mind with positivity
E
Exude hope and faith from within you
Exercise patience, everything happens in its time
Excellent people are formed during tough times
Evolve, let these things build you up
S
Success is guaranteed at the end
Students of life, we all are
Situations teach us to be Masters
Summing it up...
Seize all the opportunities present in life's challenges
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 2:54 PM UTC
Do I dare count the men
Who have slithered between my legs?
Is “What’s your number?” just a possible question
Or is it a question that begs?
Do I dare add merit to fluid actions
That ripples through life’s ebb?
Or will such an answer create disruption?
Will it wrestle with my head?
And if this is so, do I have a duty
To answer this knocking question?
Am I neglecting, truly,
A responsibility privilege presented?
Can I face this number without hurt?
Is it truly unimportant?
Or with it will I uncover a sting?
Will I unveil undue torment?
Curiosity rears its head
Maybe years from now I will face it
But for now I fear that I’m much too vulnerable
Granted its importance was merely created
I am just as curious as the man who created
The importance of such summing
But his legacy is much too strong for me
Through shallow eyes
Such as mine
It will endow me unbecoming.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
If you could promise me one thing,
it would be that you'd never change.
No matter how many ways I rearrange
these meager words,
they will always find a way to spell out
"I love you"
And that's beautiful.
But we do not worship beauty anymore,
we bend our knee to concepts such as
violence and objectification
in a culture that paradoxically forbids it,
for every vulture picking the bones of something
that once was amazing,
there is a man getting fat off lies
and grazing.
This is for every child who will die this year,
who will take it upon themselves to make a message
that people will choose not to hear.
This entire atmosphere is clouded from the fumes
coming out of the hallways and classrooms,
where each flower blooms
only to close it's petals up again in shame.
Where each name called is meant to stand for
horrors and destitution
and our prostitution for convenience
will always shift the blame.
This is for every bully that got pushed back,
for every attack returned
and good night's sleep earned.
This is for you,
or anyone like you,
who has ever had to feel the shock value
summing up to totals we could never coalesce
and I will not digress from this topic.
It has burned holes in our armor,
into our good judgements and mind
where our credit cards will be declined
because we didn't take charge.
Problems like these will only enlarge,
we will never be happy,
until we deal with this.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
They talked about him as the one
who none had ever seen smile.
You couldn't gauge
if he was happy or depressed
no emoji could describe
the repressed expression
but all said
he was dutiful.
Caring husband and father
responsible family head
silent bread earner.
His constant arrangement made sure
the home was neatly organized
not one object was out of place
and but for the children
it would have been hard to guess
if he ever met his wife privately
summing up him to be named
robot
and the belief in his name was strong.
When his wife died
he wailed so loud
it could be heard beyond town.
To the neighbors,
it was mechanical breakdown.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
The girl from Dublin
comes to me here
under the the summer sun.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
She drinks her new city
a cup at a time,
until her coffee is done.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
I love her early
in the curtain of morning,
where the red trains run.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
She has wild light
under her step
when she walks or she runs.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
I wait each day
in an old black chair
until we can be one.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
The girl from Dublin
waits for me here
under the summing sun.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 10:23 AM UTC
*I watch your face
as you write
in the furrows of the brow,
see you and the
word-seeds being seized,
harvested,
prepared, ready-roasted
for sumptuous consumption
grimace and smile,
alternating currents,
grimace and smile,
ponderous pondering
chew each word,
flavor extracting,
does its taste fit,
is it only,
but,
perfect?
you get up, you sit,
you move about,
pretending, misleading,
purposed to be aimless
yet eyes squinting
betray
a fearsome full
concentration rapture,
a mind computing
the numerical quality of
words,
summing, subtracting,
solving for X
you employ technique,
formats, tools and aids,
thesaurus, dinosaurus, dictionary,
even pictionary
when
the guppy letters
swim spring river current fast,
little boy catch me fast run past,
cannot be caught and easy captured
why
do I watch
your face
as you write?
for there visaged,
is your truest work,*
you, your best poem
*what words you select
matters little to me,
t'is the struggles,
the blush of satisfactory,
the distempered white of
disillusionment,
of inspiration sought
but not found
all these dancers,
you choreograph
a word-ballet in three acts,
scheme a midsummer nights dream
upon the stage of your face
return the favor poet?
watch mine,
watch my face,
as I read your poem
and see thine own best
reflection
in teary eyes caught inside crows-feet,
pencil thin smile lines of fine wine whimsy,
in feet that airlift,
the contour of
who you are
and
think*
**You, Poet,
you are your best poem**
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 11:08 PM UTC
O' what sadness comes
with January.
After all the Christmas bells
have rung their final
tune
and New Year has been
cried with united hints
of regret,
a melancholy air
falls.
Maybe it is the perpetual
fear of man,
of beginnings
and the sense
of our winged lives
flying by while we pray
our oars will take us
somewhere brighter.
Or perhaps I am being
pseudo profound
Though don't you get
a summing sense of January
in the Christmas tree?
It leans bare, sadly against
your house while the
fairy lights
are packed away
into cardboard boxes
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
~ following “A Simple Poem”~ (1)
But of course, we reference revelations,
for our brief self-description are guises,
meant to hide, meant to impress, reveal
little, enhance our mystery, preserve our
secrecy. expose and hide simultaneously
within our mid-of-night aura mystiques
Safe behind the curtain, we wizards speak
in voices and tongues, giving up our innermost everything in verse, write of our blessings and our curses, holding little back while we give ourselves away, hint by hinting, writ by writing, a series of
+++++++’s
I choose, I chose, to dress my chess pieces
in a clear varnish, **** the consequences,
sail towards the torpedoes, heading direct
to meet your eyes, giving up my forest
tree by tree, poem by poem, a leaf and
a branch, only tinkering and fussing like a new parent over each new virtual birthing,
and then once tidied,
once spent,
my secrets unconcealed,
we wonder quick if each
puzzle when connected
to its predecessor is
understood
as a tiny pointilisme dot,
a speck
and that you are wise enough to
comprehend how each speck,
lives only unique in its
conjunction,
only tandem-with both the one
nearest and the ones dabbed a decade
long ago, and when you connect
my dots, I stand before you completely
a full and a naked folio,
one book of a single reveal,
the sum of my totality,
an addition of many integers,
summing up to 1
So,
should we pass by each other,
our eyes will pierce, each wrinkle,
solving the equation of who we are…
a single human, readily identifiable,
total recognition, via the reconnaissance
of our letterered footsteps
Nov 20, 2024
Nov 20, 2024 at 11:12 AM UTC
*Dim lights,
Slow music,
The best place to be in,
Was there in your arms.
Eyes were meant to be shut,
Hands were meant to hold,
And words were meant to be silent.
Can it get any more amazing?
Holding on to each other,
And dancing to the mild wild genre,
And smiling like you didn't have any regrets,
Were eyes had a constant connection,
And heartbeats were the only constant rhythm to dance along.
Holding on to you,
And that smile which lit my face,
Had a deep meaning.
Was it that I was happy?
Or was it that you completed me?
Summing up things in my mind,
I smiled again,
This time it was because,
I knew what it was meant to be.
Many had knocked,
Yet, this heart had opened the door just for you,
Cuz it knew,
That the fuel which was needed for survival was you!*
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 9:01 AM UTC
Every childhood slogan
drilled into our skulls
left room for incompletion
and rebellion of our tongues
Be kind dearest neighbor
They said
treat them as you would yourself...
When my heart was diced in pieces
behind a protective shell
feelings weren't spared for any...
money chasing fame
dreaming dreams involving pain
with actions summing up
to techno-lingo-logical
the only words heard spoken
are implications under jokes
half phrased and cut short
Well i'm not waiting here for you
to decide what you want to do.
moving on but staying true
loving me a bit more then you
you see
I'd reach my hand in your direction
stare my longing in your eyes.
now I'm staring in the mirror....
vulnerable
free
no disguise is holding me
knowing whats underneath
deserves more
and finally
we can
release.... receive.... resurface
Oct 15, 2011
Oct 15, 2011 at 11:37 PM UTC
my best poems came:
in months, days of desperation,
hours, moments of elation, it was the
always imbalance that just was, that
was/when the karma-was in-balance
my best poems always, always,
came accompanied by tears, many,
before, during, certainly after, even
twice, when a later returning stumble,
brought the sentries to open old gates
never, at any time, was a man with many
friends, reasons plenty, reasons mine,
it was an imbalance that just was, that
of the karma-when-in-balance, except,
the creative offsprings became children,
painful to raise, coming to visit occasionally
hear no quiet trumpet moaning, nor a violin
shed the human cries that only a man-made
instrument can be forgiven for being better at
than their own creators. Much by choice, or
criminal laziness, all tinged by a fear so subtle,
don’t think anyone knew it existed, yet, always
humming “see the man running against the wind”
there you have it. no summing up necessitated,
because how the numbers add up, the total is
just the total, and know, you can finish this one,
the total is just a rose by any other name, it’s a
number that by definition was the of, the when,
“when an imbalanced karma-was-in-balance.”
Jul 27, 2020
Jul 27, 2020 at 3:40 PM UTC
I'm asking myself,
Am I in the right place
Should I really be here
Did I make the right choice
or am I just looking at the wrong angle
Am I really that fed up
or maybe I just need a pause to think clear
Do I really hate what I do
or maybe I'm just doing it wrong
failures keep on summing up
bad results that are hard to fix
domino effect
Are they bluffing with me,
or maybe I'm just too stubborn to listen
to what they had to say
I'm trying to read between the lines
opinion and advice
Anxiety strikes
Is this called self loathing
seems like I don't trust myself like before
Not that confident and always sure to what I do..
Like everything is not falling in the right place
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
Essence in its natural form
Is a thick syrup in a glass jar,
But when it hits the air
The concentrated being sizzles
Into a mist
Taunting nearby objects,
And eventually sliding coolly
Through electrified skin.
That is, essence is a reduction,
And we feel its reflection, its gaze.
Summing you up
Is catching that mist with a butterfly net,
But some of your elements so fill your persona
That they are all too eager to embrace
Their destinations,
Boldly solidifying into tangible expressions
Of passion and drive
On my skin,
Where my own platform of energy
Prepares to retaliate.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 5:37 AM UTC
I want to write to immortalize my name,
but my heart is poured out on the ground like wax,
So like Jesus and Solomon and some others,
If I'm lucky,
maybe I could immortalize my pain.
It has all been redone, rehashed, rewritten, and reread, (this included)
and like billions of others,
my world revolves around me,
my instinct and my survival,
wedged in my head.
We are all philosophers, scientists and sheep,
from princes to murderers,
from mothers to sailors,
the remembered and forgotten,
the drunks and the tailors-
We're sincerely believing the delusions we keep.
I think some found truth,
and others found lies,
and some found excuses
for the passions of youth.
But I have favourite things that keep me alive,
the songs and the family and friends that help me pass time,
conquering problems and getting things right,
the fragile ecstasy,
the rare intimacy,
touch.
I constantly feel the drain of time running out,
my back is in knots,
I'm tired and in doubt.
I see people I love aging and fading,
and I know we all share it,
our lives are decaying.
My heart has grown hard from the sorrow I've seen,
so many bleeding,
I'm also bleeding.
It's too hard too cry tears for all the begging children I see
they never run out,
we're always needing.
I want to live hope and love in this world,
despite my terminal condition,
my weakness and waywardness,
my incessant betrayal,
there must be some good to flow from this cracked jar.
And I want to walk with you,
none of us are alone here,
this pain belongs to us all.
I will fail from time to time,
in my self-centerdness forget you are mine.
But there will be times when we will touch on eternity.
We will calm the blame with soft whispers of each others names.
We will laugh and clown until our tears have run out.
We will know we belong, pretend that were strong.
In this sense I do live for you, and you for me,
imagine without that what a hell this would be.
And when I die, who knows what will be next?
But I will leave behind some beautiful things.
And if you go before me,
I'll carry you home,
then bury your bones,
then bury your memories inside me
and let them fade with me.
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 2:25 PM UTC
Am light headed while unwedded unselected is directed too affected by rejected then came one,
Heavenly sprung son has come to do what couldn’t be done before the opposite age of sixty-one, now he has won, valuing he, relating to each other that the time is where we see, can it be, that the time is here, while we are separated my dear, picture isn’t clear while our relation is near to a merely abstain if were physically together I couldn’t restrain to obtain all that we again could gain.
Enumerating agitating pass the waiting over rating, but he, is more I could see, after we became, we made a pact to not restrain, from all we could obtain and do, executing false truths of me and of you, became tipsy when had met, everyday I reflect, and then that day we kept directly set, oh how could we ever forget, is why we don’t we only float upon a picture perfect hope to devote him I quote, without a boast I love him most.
Summing up to submitting our relationship is never quitting only winning early on, where is it that the days have gone, echelon has dawned this is where we belong, underage deprave derange of blessings he gave without demising ever, couldn’t turn out better when we are together, no shame for he has perfect aim what it has brought have never fought, only re caught each other’s
sight I delight in him each night as we reunite our right to, would like to, we fight to, bring light to, might do.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 1:39 PM UTC
floral dresses
pink converses
chewing gum
wind blown hair
sandy beaches
balancing acts
hope for us
we'll work everything out
i smiled at my memories of you
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 4:25 AM UTC
I need you to be patient while I try to remember
Infinite losses were made when I was born in September
I knew I've always been different in multiple aspects
No comas just a period next to the asterisk ".*"
I know I'm not crazy or even delusional
I've just been getting let down a bit more than usual
I wish I could show you what Im willing to give on a separate occasion
It's hard summing up the losses and figuring out the equation
I know this poem sounds sad but it's really not
Im just trying to display what I've really got
This whole time I always believed my life had ******
But I swear until you first kissed me I never believed in good luck..
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
As the simmering soup lets out a dreamy aroma of spices,
The scent wafts through the nose soothingly,
Leaving the lungs with lively flavours,
I guess that explains why we were bouncy.
“This soup treats a cold”
Grandma usually said while serving,
All the children could not withhold, The joy of visiting grandma in spring.
Her huge *** seemed bottomless,
Yes, she never bought a smaller ***
On the dinner table, the soup brought a sense of closeness,
The kind of love that cannot be bought.
As I slip in the memories,
The side of my mouth subtly curls up,
Summing up the thought of copacetic spring medleys,
And taking the soup in place of the syrup.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC