"supposing" poems
.
He liked to gather up the silence in the springtime
Pack it up and carry it in an old timeworn leather rucksack
From a distance it looked like he was a senseless fool
Picking up handfuls of nothing; then putting it in an empty jar
No mind is paid to the fleeting glance in the corner of a stranger's eyes
They were out of reach from the box he was living in
He kept gathering up the endless silence like missing pieces of a lost soul
It seemed to be everywhere ― and in it heard, the only voice he knew
Supposing all his thoughts pondered come forth of silence
Often resting sheltered beneath branches where it grew on the trees ―
It wasn't just the songbird that broke the stillness in dappled sunlight
It was the dearth of love that rivers through a strong heartbeat’s
silenced words ...
Jesse Stillwater
04 May 2018
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 10:58 AM UTC
Supposing that we lit some candles.
One for each person on this earth,
we would blow one out at a funeral
and light one up at a birth.
The world would grow darker
every time we lost a fighter
but with every new born baby
it gets just that bit brighter.
If you travelled into a city that was dark and gritty
you'd know that they didn't have many in their committee.
But.. If the light was brilliant and bright
it would send a beaming message throughout the night.
Saying "We are here! And we are alive!"
Not wanting to be alone we endeavor to collide
and form one giant, shining beacon
that burns so fierce we're sure it can't weaken
We sparkle and crackle and bend nature to our whim
the mighty fire so strong it just had to gave in.
With it we forged iron and buildings, cars and computers
and lit paths of lives to guide commuters
We lit up the universe as far as we could see
Improving our lives greatly with technology
obsessed with our professed fixture on practicality
we completely forgot about morality
Our fires forged weapons which we aimed next door
In one swift movement we saw the effects of war
6,000,000 candles extinguished
over arguments on which light is most distinguished
So fixated on this light we blinded our eyes
and the candle smoke filled the skies.
We thought candles were good, they elevated us higher
but now all we have is thick smoke and fire.
The fire consuming all in its route
the root of our lives follow suite.
It's eating the oxygen and burning the grass
the sand is melting and forming to glass.
The glass it shatters into a thousand pieces
more candles are lighting, the temperature increases
The resources decline, as do the candles
buried in ash a hundred thousand scandals.
Now only a few lit candles remain
as they slowly melt and fade away.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 1:39 PM UTC
She brought me to the devil—
swept the leaves off my brain
& we jumped in the pile.
After rolling a few
& burning
we bathed in wine
washing our minds
with chicken soup for the soul.
He appeared in the stars
& we smiled—
absorbing his card
through a lovely osmosis
supposing the black roses
hiding behind his back
were cut by a queen of swords.
We skipped roped
w/ a noose
cuttin’ loose our useless
baggage by tossing them over
a stony cliff.
As the devil lit a cigarette s/he mumbled
something about a conscious shift.
The devil gave us a gift—
It was a skull
inside a prince’s disk
shaped discus change purse.
“I bring you death as a parting
gift to show where to put the change.”
We laughed & giggled
as we played with plasma—
that’s liked fire cubed.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 8:07 AM UTC
I had once been in a church to drink a beer
Behind the pastor seat
A risk I took with no fear
Ends me a back seat.
I wonder who reported me
For I was sure all doors were locked against me
I was sure the gate keeper didn't notice me
I guess the walls have eyes
Oh, maybe holy spirit really exist
But why did he have to show up then
I was in the same spot sweating in prayers
Crying rain seeking for a divine help
Nobody reported me then
Is this not a case of betrayal?
People, they just love being messengers of negativity
When I was sweeping the altar, dusting this same pastor seat nobody shouted my activities.
Wait a minute, what was I thinking
Why should I carry a sin in a bottle
Straight to a supposing holy temple.
Holy? Is a place I once caught cockroaches making out holy?
The venue where our tithes and offerings are being pocketed by the church hierarchy still holy?
Even as that, I don't suppose to join the crowd to pollute the Lord's place
Truly I deserve even behind the back seats, yes I deserve the shame.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
You change my mind like a massive industrial factory.
Because flowers.
Supposing friendly.
What if therefore.
You crush my forethought in your mandible machinery
For after yellow.
Beside a lake.
Through crimson humility.
I melt under your molten supervision on the grandest scale
Melodic franchise.
Hypothesize sunbeams.
And if replace me.
You reorient my viewpoints on your conveyor belt of
liquidated mellow
jurisdiction.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
crimson and magic
to splash without panic
in waves of compliance
for drugs made from science
and sorceress who summon the simple solutions
illusions! illusions!
of grander worth loosing
confusing the process will aid not for coptic
nor catholic
or elsewhere semantics
act frantic in panic
to sob without reason
treason! say treason!
the exit of reason
to wander in wander a fate beyond yonder
set ponder a path set by mind on the map
of solutions and systems
domestic conditions
yet wild apparitions
appear as conditioned - concerns
to a mindset as stern and subtracted
by fractions of actions repulsed by distraction
disgruntled reactions
supposing contractions
created the action
conceived from distractions
The reasons
let change be for seasons
while i stay the rock in the pond
either frozen not gone
as the watcher
still watching
content upon watching
exhaling the notion
that motions for movement
atonement! atonement!
with further consolement
atlas like the breeze of the gavel
let both parties ravel and tug
whether free or debugged
only mind over matter
unscrambles the lather
too see that is free
is like blind sight at sea
with the waves of conforming
to drown is informing
if not then be peace !
for all parties deceased
by a water so deep you could drown in your sleep
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
****
mit ein(e)
gernierung
of... ******
MACDONALDS
for the protestants
MCDONALDS
for the catholics...
and **** the rest of it
whoop di do d'ah
whoopsie!
**** it...
i always called the IRA
the ginger ninja brigade...
******* *****
ha ha!
is that even permitted?
like...
oopsies?!
oh ****
the steam-roller is
giving it a shot at reading
the earth,..
flat...
map on paper?
**** me... no app....
****** you ever navigate a car
through the German Rhine roundabout?
what's in it?
Dortmund.. Essen...
you know that constipated
part of the road map of Europe...
ever navigate that trippy
conundrum ******** of navigation?
beside me...
can't speak german,
won't navigate in german,
no matter how many
Mercedes-Benz they pump out
from the Henry Ford institute of
the reclining chair,
supposing
die krupps to be squidgy clean...
i think the european translation
reads:
die Dortmund Ringe...
das Rhine Ringe...
**** allocating yourself to a rally car...
navigate through that sort
of German ********
achtung achtung...
autobahn ende!
vorwärtskreis
might as well salute for a second
coming of... hítlear!
shaking Stevens?
huh?!
knee on the no contra
the know: bother...
the english won't know...
isn't that nay?
i listen to too much lawyer
jargon...
i'd love to listen to
poetry...
but... i figured...
lawyers play the slight of
the sly of hand that poets
exasperate into toying with words
to accomplish art...
lawyers? the impasse of
judgement?
**** me!
apparently the argument
goes:
down syndrome...
psychopaths...
'ere by god's grace...
much grace, my lord...
too much grace...
two salvation pointers:
(a) i won't drink with them...
(b) i won't eat with them,
(c) there is no "c" that isn't
a "d" that isn't an "e"
"f", etc!
you get a zebra...
you get a null bonus!
a ******* safari of an automated
anti hamster Boston outfit!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
How fast a vegetable heart can perish?
A toddler growing like a seed of corn
Planted on a fertile ground
So cherished,
Like a man after the king's heart.
Not knowing nature has a different plan against him
Or men of the underworld are strongly against his being
And too desperate to shower unending tears on her fresh mother's smiling cheeks
He was stolen away by death.
I can't forget that dark scaring night
Where all the heavenly bodies were dead asleep.
The echoes of his granny shout still live in my head
A shout she made like she just realised she has been praying into deaf ears
The prowess of which I plucked him off my mother laps to my chest
Still baffles me
The race we ran to the empty darkness outside
Reminds me of the speed of a certain Bolt from Jamaica.
In prayers, speed and tears
We continue our race to a center for health care
Too much fluid is lost, the doctor summited and aided us to continue our race for more competence.
Competence often too difficult to find in this part of Africa.
To cut it all short, competence was found
Treatment was made
Praises bell began to ring in our hearts for we thought he was already saved.
Yes, the next morning, he moved, smiled and uses hands to play!
But the noon that follows the whole story changed
And the ceremony of mourning began.
His spirited effort wasn't enough and he had to leave us,
No, he was jealously taken away from us
Just weeks before his first year birthday.
The stain of his tears still lives on my mother pillow
Reminding her that she was a grand mother for eleven months and a week ago.
His happy face still stand in a picture at a corner of her mother mirror
Recalling the fact that she has lost a gem to the world of ghosts.
His father striving to remain a man as he pushes to get loans
To pay up his medical bills from family and folks even from supposing foes.
The pain of his departure never cease to add Bitter sound to my heart beat,
Though forgotten how cute he was when he was alive
But I never fail to remember how cute he became in dead indeed.
His demise was a script Unseen,
Till date it remain a prank to me.
Amidst all the experiences I have been forced to face
This is one of the scripts I wish it was never written nor played.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
Has your soul sipped
Of the sweetness of all sweets?
Has it well supped
But yet hungers and sweats?
I have been witness
Of a strange sweetness,
All fancy surpassing
Past all supposing.
Passing the rays
Of the rubies of morning,
Or the soft rise
Of the moon; or the meaning
Known to the rose
Of her mystery and mourning.
Sweeter than nocturnes
Of the wild nightingale
Or than love's nectar
After life's gall.
Sweeter than odours
Of living leaves,
Sweeter than ardours
Of dying loves.
Sweeter than death
And dreams hereafter
To one in dearth
Or life and its laughter.
Or the proud wound
The victor wears
Or the last end
Of all wars.
Or the sweet ******
After long guard
Unto the martyr
Smiling at God;
To me was that smile,
Faint as a wan, worn myth,
Faint and exceeding small,
On a boy's murdered mouth.
Though from his throat
The life-tide leaps
There was no threat
On his lips.
But with the bitter blood
And the death-smell
All his life's sweetness bled
Into a smile.
2.3k
uniquely
separated
by heart and body
i'm-
iss you completely
without knowing what
forty-eight thousand tiny men
take me to
your eyes
and one thousand seven hundred steps
times seven hundred forty
take me to
your doorstep
every day in
my mind
for a supposing.
uniquely
separated
by hEArt and body
i'm in lo-
ve with your words and
millions of sudden thoughts
that were always farther away
than you.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
If I were to write
about everything we deserve,
everything we lost,
everything we didn’t get.
Would the alphabet suffice?
Would the words ever stop?
Supposing they would,
when and where would they end?
With our life
or when our will ceases to exist?
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 1:40 PM UTC
Stirring morning
Open eyes then feel… open ear starts to listen… open mind learn humbly to think and to grasp… open heart with passion to feel… (Continue quietly breathing in and out)… "What that feel deep inside?"
Sensing and intuiting, searching with all feeling and wits, while heart and mind still clear and unblemished.
Attempting to fly off into the morning wild blue yonder. Once again, no ponder souls' supposing… only relinquish… go beneath the core of being human: "What that feel deep inside me?"
At the culmination, golden morning rays teach, to experience the surrounds as they are, as gold as they are naked… as warmth as they should be… allow diminishing self-image first to be humble… then I might cloth being in the present and be a friend with I am who I am…
"What that feel deep inside me?"
And I know…
When…
There will be…
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 9:36 PM UTC
(Extra characters: Friend 1 Friend 2 )
"A chat about who people like?"
It's not something like that!
But actually I'm interested, and want to hear about it,
It sets my heart fluttering!
The reason is really simple,
I'm plagued by this awkward shyness,
So I'll just be watching from behind.
Though surely I've been kindled with the idea of love,
I actually haven't fallen in love with anyone yet.
Just having fun with my friends, A "bachelorette"(lol)
Who just smiles and dodges the question...
It's totally fine like this! 'Thud'
Falling in love and stuff, when it happens to someone,
Naturally that envious, jealous feeling rises up.
Teach me the charm, that will set love in motion!
I must look like a huge dummy...
"Eh? a soccer ball?"
"Hey what's that? It looks fun!"
"It's just what guys do right?"
We burst out in laughter.
Saying "Good morning, you got some bed hair."
That boy from my class, I'm totally shocked!
It was the first time he talked to me,
And it's just so embarrassing!
With my everyday being a bit boring,
Having milk, the two stars and a supernova,
They were having a dream.
Suppose one day if I started going out with someone,
It'd be nice walking home hand in hand...
"It's a somewhat embarrassing dream..."
"I know..." Just talking to myself,
Someday, surely...
Being jealous, being made to feel that way,
All girls experience stuff like that.
These totally normal kinds of emotions,
I'll surely have them too...
"I have something I want to tell you,"
"Later after school, at 4:10 pm in this classroom right here."
Glancing at me during just our second conversation,
Why won't my heart stop beating like crazy?
I can't look at him!
You know, just supposing, if this was a confession...
I'm all stuck thinking,
About what I should say.
If that kind of thing is said...
Aahh...
"I'm just so nervous!"
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 6:21 AM UTC
as you draw the value of rivers
and the fickle nature of clouds
and the real gift of sacrifice
from my favorite book,
i gaze down at the ghostly veins
in this loving cabbage palm,
and wonder how brown ale and stew
is the height of the day
and when it's enough
and how.
*********************
by a journey north
i make all my old feelings
warm and alert
i remember supposing
my love was covered in frost
at the foot of my favorite spruce trees
gathering pins and needles
i know i fall for those of no sitting
and those spurned by silent blessings
my deepest vaults have safe spots-
difficult to find-
easy to alight-
surprised when beheld-
all chambers listen.
the only thing keeping me fast
is that car and those country roads
this fastens me to your existence
as i note your remarkable motion to
the growing world,
nourishing religion,
and your experienced hands
how does a straightaway of field
bring me to this loss?
the car is the only, holding me fast
to my hopes battling inevitable sadness
towards the unknown glides of our paths
i run far ahead
because i want to see this future
in front
moving past
falling back
*************************
even over few solemn days
i want to know how you could leave me here
wrapped in ribbons of resplendent desire
and worried stutters
the only unusuality about your silence
is its absence
(likely misunderstood)
and such an absense is not voiceless -
simply careless no-speak -
neither sound nor kind listening
is present in this kind of brooding
where are the flowing rivers of your words
if not through the dark caverns in me?
who else has been trading softness with you?
more often have i gripped the hard glass,
the steering wheel,
the stiff drink.
was there a glimpse into shocked discontent
granting you sudden power to retract
from all my easy benevolence?
the trouble is this -
though you've been sweetly resistant,
i've never professed hot beckoning until now
********************************
when i turn into the sweetness of sick sheets
and your sleeping hands
i breathe in all the dew on your chest
and smile
realizing
i'm the idiot
waiting
*********************************
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
It was as common as grey slacks on a pensioner
Though smelled much, much better,
The shampoo she used, that is.
Used in abundance my numerous others,
But
None did justice as she.
Tempting chocolate tendrils skirting down
Colliding with shoulder and nape of her milky, silky neck.
I have kissed her there,
Nuzzled,
Suckled and slept.
Blanketed by her scented threads of security.
A sort of role reversal.
The supposing weak protect the strong as they sleep
And dream of where they are.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
I went to find your place in the woods today
but as I rounded the bench near the
fray of trees I couldn’t find the fallen log
where we sat for so long that i became the cold lichen too,
colored like an overexposed photo
pale and unmoving, drawn to and
at the mercy of the elements. I was overexposed as well,
not just because i chose to wear only a sweater in the
waning days of autumn but
because I drew out these spider silk memories for you
to see, me, as only my sheets and bathroom floor see.
Part of me expected to find you among the trees,
looking for a new mossy place to
watch the walkers and the swans from,
thinking as you smoke away thoughts of
a current past given up fast to the ether.
before the sun sets, you’ll be with those memories,
lost to the ever presence of an unrelenting time.
I suppose the cold will keep you inside for a while
until the womb of your flat can keep you no longer,
and drives you out, back into your space in nature.
and when you find it,
you’ll see your fallen perch has finally hit the ground.
I found my own perch, looking for yours
and watched the smallest of birds hop
between the edges where the water meets the damp land and
I suppose one day you’ll again sit among the faded leaves
watching as your smoke, breath and body heat make
fleeting picture clouds for you to read.
so I rest here with a sachet of tobacco, some rolling papers and
tumbling thoughts to ease the strain.
and while i sit supposing, you suffer in barbarous silence.
But the one thing I’ve learned from being force fed
everyone else''s woes and crumbling glories:
its hard to sew a wound
under seven layers of skin.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
-Lyrix (BluJazz)
Blue, Blue, I'm so blue for you
Blue so Blue true blue for you
We shared Our life
within a place
of endless love
and wondrous grace
A vow of hearts
Our promise bound
that moment pure
forever found
Finding You
Shadows stole
Our moment pure
the sun arose and surely sure
All was lost when I lost you
I dreamed a dream
and saw you
Brand new
Blue, Blue, I'm true
blue for you
Blue so Blue, are you
true blue too
I searched the Earth
when all was new
Lost my life persuing you
Whispered prayers
to who knows who
Supposing all my prayers
were heard by you
We shared our love
We paid the cost
for those whose cause
was always lost
Angels sang
while they looked on
For crimes of these
Our love forever torn
All was lost
when I lost you
Dreamed a dream
and saw you new
Whispered prayers
to who knows who
Supposing all my prayers
were heard by you
Blue, Blue, I'm true
blue for you
Are you true blue too
I'm blue true blue
for true blue you
I'm blue true blue
for true blue you
-R.
(2.10)
Hlywd
-4MAR
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 10:45 AM UTC
My favorite mistress
is red
round
and rotund.
She fell in love
with the tomato
on the windowsill
yet could not feel his touch.
Supposing she could change it,
she decided to
blush
for all eternity.
Now,
she coaxes in a Mr.
Earl Grey.
He slips into my bedroom
He infuses my space.
My mistress invites him
in with her song.
High and coarse,
yet
of it I will never tire.
Sing!
Sing!
Sing!
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
Supposing it is my way, although that is never the intended effect. Shaking the irrational awake is difficult as insensitive as words may seem, instead of causing adverse reaction the hope is to open eyes and ears alike, kindling a desire for change in thought and action. A new system of thinking. A new order of hope found in something real unlike the mythology of today. The idea of ignorance is faulty and study is imperative in order to dig for treasures stored in heaven. Love is real and attainable although blind love will lead to an unstable view of lose ideas of kisses and backing that doesn't exist. A realistic view is sometimes blunt and hard to even take a peek into with squinty eyes. I apologize.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
We just can't make them
like this anymore.
The skill and craftsmanship
have been sacrificed
on the altar of accuracy
and machines and computers
have sterilised
the smell of hard work and love.
To make such a map
with no satellites, no certainty
meant wallowing in the mystery of the world.
In the space between knowing and supposing
there was a beauty
we may now miss, or deem unimportant.
However,
if I want to get from my house
to your grave, to pay my respects -
through the shopping malls
and bypasses,
the glass and steel towers
you could never have imagined,
I will use my sat-nav
and be grateful for it.
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 7:24 AM UTC
He sprang into thought as much
As was in his capacity for such.
He settled there supposing naught
In instances that amount to squat.
Hunger pangs now bang the drum
Of higher ambitions left upon
A shelf within his lonely room
His unfinished works began to loom
-For at length he knew his Doom.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
Whispering, they point their fingers
They see me looking and quickly look away
As I walk away the gossip lingers
I can just imagine the words they say
I make my way downtown to a crowded bus stop
Stares and looks of disgust I recieve
An old girlfriend who once shared my secrets
Conveniently forgets her own ***** deeds
I was never really
The man in the trench coat
Supposing to expose my naked shame
I didn’t breathe down phones
I was never out to get ya
Never peeked through your windows
Yet the labels remain...
I was just like you an innocent child
Falling in place, never making waves
Yet if you cross any line, they wont’ let you redeem
They believe such a person can never refrain…
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
life is rich with chance to risk
with wonder and supposing
not to live and love in cliche
please stand clear doors closing
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
Supposing creatures had a voice,
Would they really say that we could eat them?
Would they really step forward willingly to the abattoir?
Like Lamb to the slaughter…
Or do they too speak profound thoughts?
Could they or could they not,
We may never find out this,
But, surely we must believe they are more
Than just a simple slab of Meat.
Could they think from a new perspective?
Evolve or Die? **** or be Killed?
Could they really want to be sacrificed?
Their deathbed a slab of concrete,
An axe as their executioner,
And a butcher’s as their tomb…
Their only purpose in life nothing more,
Than just a simple slab of Meat.
Should they really see a new lease of life?
Given the freedom of the grassy plains,
Or left picked apart, the bones scattered,
The prime cuts selected, The gristle dumped.
The only purpose as food for a higher being,
The only question on another’s lips.
How much are you willing to pay?
After all…
It’s nothing more,
Than just a simple slab of Meat.
After all is slaughter any different to hunting?
The axe as the fangs, the predator as the executioner,
The prey is the cattle, the wildebeest, and the animal.
The thrill in the chase, but not in the capture,
So why does it end in slaughter?
Surely the prize is a little bit more,
Than just a simple slab of Meat.
We may argue and we may debate,
The civil rights of these animals.
But so many people cannot see,
They think them merely as a meal.
So blind to sight and yet so advanced,
But nobody sees the hidden obliviousness,
For they cannot see animals are more than,
Than just a simple slab of Meat.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
The Gardener’s Roses
by Michael R. Burch
Mary Magdalene, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, “Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.”
I too have come to the cave;
within: strange, half-glimpsed forms
and ghostly paradigms of things.
Here, nothing warms
this lightening moment of the dawn,
pale tendrils spreading east.
And I, of all who followed Him,
by far the least . . .
The women take no note of me;
I do not recognize
the men in white, the gardener,
these unfamiliar skies . . .
Faint scent of roses, then—a touch!
I turn, and I see: You.
My Lord, why do You tarry here:
Another waits, Whose love is true?
Although My Father waits, and bliss;
though angels call—ecstatic crew!—
I gathered roses for a Friend.
I waited here, for You.
NOTE: I do not believe in Jesus as a “sacrifice” to a primitive “god” who demands the blood of innocents in order to “forgive” sins of his own making through a ghoulish "atonement." But I will not completely discount the hope that love can transcend death, although, like Thomas, I will have to see it to believe it. Keywords/Tags: Jesus, Christ, cave, grave, tomb, gardener, roses, angels, resurrection, Mary, Magdalene, love, heaven
Mar 21, 2020
Mar 21, 2020 at 5:44 AM UTC