"temperaments" poems
"The thought of the future we will never have was pollinating foul fuzzy particles in the air, slowly following the wake of all those tasseled dreams I had held onto for all those years but had to let go."
The most intimate revelations can often expose plagiaristic suppressions that we've most likely tried to already forget. Suggesting to anyone on the outside looking in, that there is a rancid cowardice secreting from the pores of all those who would deny the most basic of fundamental decencies to their fellow man.
All the while, boasting a loud tolerance that would be found on the very last Autumn-the very last colorful arrangements of watering oranges and smothered reds our world was ever going to be privileged to witness again.
The thundering drumming of my own beating heart gave my freshly dead and bland reaction a neon personality, with a few extra ********* lingering, successful gestures that reflected a sparkly prism of tracers.
Tracers that were birthed from the most brilliant of lasers, as I was radiating something that was blindingly gorgeous, something that was heightened with more sensitivity as it shadowed over the complexity of every kiss that I had ever been given in my life..
Spinning a silk and gold web around me that was almost as intricate as an alarm sounding earth quake.
This flaccidly tight response came at a price, leaving nothing but whispers and the wrong kind of impressions at the sight of it's unwanted face..
The time of dignity and grace felt decades away as your tiny little temperaments began to attempt to soothe me into a very still silence.
"Wooing" me and "seducing" me with such a strong touch of romantic readiness, I knew it would never be matched or found again causing me to feel a stroke of sadness at the single sentiment.
This dramatic departure killed any interest that might have supported the abortive sorrows and short winded elation’s of men, but instead the idea of a possibly new tasseled dream, sparked me into a shimmering prism bouncing glittering, glimmering, glowing rays off my skin, as I put the shine in the sun.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
Lines of life through gene transmission
When handed down through *****
Tho’ rugged, sound or sickly matched,
Are caste about like coins.
Luck ensures a robust chance
Of longevity and health
With intelligence or dolt hood
As a final gauge to wealth.
Traits of blue eyed, fair haired lovelies
Brown eyed, freckled, long of limb,
Temperaments across the spectrum
Placid fat to fiery slim.
Aptitude to run the long race
Good endurance, depth of heart,
Lady luck decrees their worth
Tho' the Priesthood may depart.
Frontal lobes of clear retention
Heightened rationale of thought,
Reasons through the problematic,
Resolutions made as ought.
Capacity to empathise
In tears of joy and sorrow spent,
Capacity for true belief
When wrong is righted with repent.
Goodness and black evil
Are caste about like chaff,
Depends upon the show of cards
Who laughs the final laugh.
Conscience can be virtuous
But then, so can be greed,
Depends upon the circumstance
And if approached at speed.
And finally indulgence
Plays a massive hand in this,
For love and lust determine
If a union is remiss.
And should that union founder,
Should Lady Luck throw in her hand
...You can blame it on the chromosomes
Which confounds the Makers stand!
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
14 June 2011
Jun 13, 2011
Jun 13, 2011 at 8:42 PM UTC
If not to tempt the temperaments of lesser men, I shall bludgeon the object of our obsessions again, just to watch the reddened britches go un-itched, as my grinning is met with dissatisfaction, impacting the over expressed whining of gentle wimps, flailing, and stomping as disgruntled chimps, flinging feces from the cages again.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
*This miraculous journey we call life,
has many strands braided together,
never forget what is expected from
the travelling monk, walking in front,
who'll break his walk to play with
stray street pups, eat, drink and sup
with men and women, of many temperaments,
who'd invite him to sit with them, even not knowing
who he is, or what mission moves him
through these dusty roads. There is something
that makes everyone not take eyes off him,
they'd say that, when he goes back on his way.
On the waves of emotions, he partake, he moves
like a paper boat navigated, by the speed
it all create, yet unaffected, except the empathy he keeps in his heart.
Hearing stories of this pilgrim in rapt attention
creating worlds fantastic inside,
learning things one never imagined before,
he travels with the wandering monk in sight.
What is more wondrous, once he thought
than seeing one's starry eyed lover's excitement,
showing a jewel she picked
from the riverbed of her short life
in a blessed moment.
She put it adoringly in to his mind,
a gleaming ornament that'd adorn him
though time would change that too.
Every thing experienced in this journey
makes one, the words of the monk prompt to act
and see the aftermath, take in the taste,
be it sweet or bitter or both,
odors and smells, the feel of things
a complex web, the map of inner life.
Never should one fail, to lend ears
to the tales of wandering monk
he is wisdom's child, patience solidified,
every tale has its color, smell and texture,
nature spoke, he experienced,
ages in muted tones speak
to him in the voice of the wandering monk*
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
Terrible divides, steep creatures fishing from the fissures.
Devil ties, honor cries telling of fable able love lies.
Red rug **** from… Ah stomp down pound twice round.
Let me in dearth harp melody killing me true internally. Over me, you do du thee or in one to learn to unseen these say said twas. What then spoke big loud a proud voice e bound red to set the turns in a state of decay. Spread death red pestilence.
Broken brains with bad temperaments. To know this clever myth, in definitely one word siphon spell check commiserate in-consumption
Only fitting to continue after that, twas broken in two-tone spits of *****
Oh how one can be so indiscriminate, yet be so in to it
Suckling finger to finger, the artist and his soul slip through one another
And **** there it is… why I am drunk, why so earthbound?
No, No, that la-la-di-dah sing song, nickname, sick game
Ah… already this is where I end, lying before the gate, spread in sprawls of my final death thrall, the spastic convictions, emotional token, so wholly holy that I am certain of this and this alone; they, folk of blend and contrast so steady will carrier this body through the gates, this world or that, bounce and then back, splendor in form, surrender to utter the weight of universal, expressions in the shade of totality
Goodnight too.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC
Intellectual Insubordinates Infiltrating Independently Isolated Islands...
People Positively Promote Popping Pain Pills
Do Dummies Distinguish Different Demographic Disorders
Crazy Commanders Create Confused Combat Corps
Unorthodox Ultimatums Usually Unfold United Unions
Things That Typically Transform Taint Temperaments
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
Kozarev, you are like a summer's day:
Bright and brilliant; exotic and vibrant.
Smart and gallant; generous and elegant.
Our story is flickering like these smooth bushes
of May; ah, but why I saw thee not today,
I knew not why.
How could I dream of thee not?
Ah, my dreams are bad.
Nature hath probably cursed whom;
whenever they enter into my mind at night.
I hate their promises, and their tongues-
they are forever and ever slandering
my faith-by chanting about thy presence,
their mouths are fraught with lies;
leaning to me like those filthy, ungodly,
savagery; if I was to catch thee not-
why should have they insisted so?
I am jealous of those hidden faces, unknown
Behind thy walls, impatient to grasp thee
with a bite of lustful words, swearing at
thy benevolence, for I canst be more so,
and more generous than thou hath thought.
My blood boileth with sickly temperaments-
whenever I am bound to one thinking
Of thy prudence, and tactfulness
Towards the glamor of insipid dames.
My soul becomes problematic, and forested
in severed distraction and dismay
by averted lips of choking and gasping all day!
Ah, yes, suffrage shall be beneath my eyes,
until no more breath is perhaps to remain,
and only wreaths of crossness
Frantically treading about the paths
of my gouty lungs; wreaking away bit by bit
their brevity, washing off every virulent trace
of devotional identity, and gravity.
This is harassing me-the knowledge of
being unable to see thee once more,
this evening, perhaps-
and I am twisting and glaring at
these painful thoughts like a dream.
And you, you are-as the butterflies start to file
Out of their realms and into our world
You are just like their epic poems;
fruitful and delicious indeed-
but humble as those thorns,
smiling at the sun though wounded;
and laughing by the smallest of whose delight.
Kozarev, you are my man; and as you dance along
the gravel paths by handsome moonlight,
you are even more glittering than which;
and with thy stateliness
You will but own my heart once more,
lifting it up from every dim deprecation
and fruitless laudation it hath hitherto ventured into.
And I love thee and might just love thee more every day;
more than every promise my poems can say,
I adore thee and cannot live without thee
Swift and marvelous is my love,
blessed and ingenious as it shall ever be.
I love thee, Kozarev.
Obicham te.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 7:41 AM UTC
A mermaid swimming through alluring and mysterious seas with locks agleam
Encountering luminous dreams as her heart whispers ancient melodic themes
A soul beaming with brilliance; if only she acknowledged the significance of her commendable resilience
Just like the moon, going through phases; mind aiming to make sense of the manifestations articulately awakened through these audacious vibrations
Strange yet undeniable phenomenon - elegantly enduring ambivalent sentiments and soaring through desolate temperaments
Pheromones and oxytocin; the potion creating the commotion between this interwoven devotion towards harmonic onward motion
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
sushi?
no
combination fried rice?
no
nasi goreng?
no
casserole?
no
shepherds pie?
no
are we getting closer?
maybe
tacos? that must be it?
no
yep. i think i know
shrimps, hot dogs and buffalo wings?
nope. too far away
curry?
closer!
jalapenos, habaneros, chilli?
yep. as hot
but tastes and temperaments
from all mixed.
food channel addict, chef?
nope.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11608284-all-mixed-up-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.Syfk2KZn.dpuf
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
*for my friend, Betterdays, who has never written
a poem that did not seek, reach, or teach, even
when she thinks she knows not, the lesson plan below*
wisdom arrives daily,
Even after you need all ten
fingers to count your
decades and generations
was it but last year
that a single gull cawing,
a solitary iris saluting the sundial,
a moment of watching her,
arms flung hither, encased in drowsy drops,
a mother and her child strolling,
she patrolling, and they, child world exploring,
only continents discovering,
a grandchild's freely given first kiss
would prompt a write as if a shotgun shell
had arrived not overnight, but instant implosion,
in a chest that could not contain emotion,
only seep, none to keep, skin to shed,
and of course,
tears of, what should I call them,
tears of more than life, tears of essence,
real tears come from invisibly indivisibly real places,
wiping me clean
and so I oathed, I swore,
the Supreme Court and the Village Clerk
jointly administered this vow,
my hand upon my heart,
where the words come from,
*what ere you pro-prose,
what ere delights,
or havocs thy temperaments,
if to be,
duly noted, dispatched and possibly
shared,
let it be only thine best,
to the higher standard,
hold thyself close and closer still,
be happy to admit failure,
for that is excellence attained,
and when you are satisfied,
then we will be
but not mere satisfied too,
enthralled to you
for in they words,
you raise the sea level of this world's humanity,
higher and higher*
so, thank you
and thank yourself
this line drawn,
only at or above it,
the goods ones breathe...
the oxygen of poetry
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
I don't want to.
I look in your eyes and I smile and I know for a certain fact I don't want to.
Every time I have I have lost it, I have ruined it. I have never once not ruined something.
And I know with all my heart I do not want to ruin you.
I've been a heartbreaker all my life, no clue how, no clue why, because I'm not that funny, I'm not that pretty, I'm not that anything, I'm just kind. I'm kind and I **** people in until I then destroy all their hopes with my moods and my temperaments and my ever-changing mind.
I don't want my mind to change about you.
One night, I felt it. I felt my ever scornful heart turning from you and it broke me. I cried and cried fearful that I would lose you over one little shift, one little imperfection. I don't want it. I don't want any of it.
I just want you.
I want to change for you, to stop shifting, to stop turning, to stop it all. I want to stick with this until my heart breaks for once, because we both deserve that.
I don't want to already be starting to turn away.
I don't want to go despite everything you say.
I want to be by your side for as long as I can manage it, because you are worth it. Because you fight for me, even when I see in your eyes it kills you. Because you hold me and smile at me and talk with me and care about me, even if its in your own quirky way.
I want to do this, for you, for the one I never expected.
I will break my own heart for you.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
Of long an aspiration, secret, that rosaries
don't quench, unexpressed, wells of old,
that anguish burning the deserts, seeking
in austerities and exegeses, an assurance
in tablets and tabernacles, and mourning
the star shooting empty in the sky at night:
a love protects vast, even when what Is
is not this that we worship, and descends
grace, ordinary so to seem obscure, that
wisdom from far must fathom its depths.
Refuse we to believe so, that say who our
father is divine, that so are we too divine.
That which we seek enduring past our
graves, holding dear in our fists clenched,
through torments and tempests and
tenements and temperaments, can
smile at us too as a babe in a manger,
that the King we expect who, to deliver
us from affliction, can a simpleton be,
a Tekton among us: that the Levi and
the Cohen, are risen too amongst us:
and to love, no birth high nor needed is
the learning in law, but to feel as show
those sisters with the heart, who anoint
him in myrrh and in tears, his feet wash.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 5:35 PM UTC
They said we can't be together
because our stars don't align
They said our temperaments simply
can't be put together
They said you're a constellation and
I am nothing but a comet passing
by
You said we'd show them that our
stars do align
You said we'd show them that we
can manage
You said we'd show them that I am
not a comet but a meteor shower
But you lied
And that's when I realized
I was indeed your meteor shower
Keeping you happy for a while
But you left when you were no
longer mesmerized
You left when your eyes fell on the
Northern Lights
You love with your eyes
And I die a little every day knowing
that you never loved me with
your heart
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
Nostalgia (Part II)
Most of my days are heavy with thoughts of you.
Contemplating, pondering, ruminating;
Who tattooed your tongue with righteousness?
At what point in your life did you remember my name?
When did you stop snorting your past away?
I remember the temperaments of you,
The kicks, the snarls, the growls, the enunciations of your
**** you's.
I remember the folded sheets tucked under me
To protect me from you, dad,
The late nights of laying awake
Listening to you slur your words,
Your tongue rolling around curse words,
Tying planned intention to mumbling misconception.
God turned his back to you,
Turned a blind eye to the doings of you,
Left us here to our own devices,
And I wonder how it would feel to wrap my hands around you
Choke the ******* life from you,
Hug you, love you, hate you, and be done with you.
Most days I wonder where we will go,
Whether I can ever let me love you.
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 3:56 PM UTC
testy temperaments are tried by tempests of temptation.
every erratic exclamation be eradicated by erasing expectations.
willing were we who wander where we wonder,
life leads little left to love for those too terrified to venture.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
My moods drain me down
To some immoderate sluice-gate,
They run down the grainy windows,
Clog the sand in the top of the hour-glass
Like bat's tears, like misplaced rainstorms
Looking for a cloud to hang out under.
All my temperaments are accidental,
Wrongly placed; too early or too late
Miscarriages of intention,
Predicaments of inattention.
All the inconsequential moments I inhabit,
I'm wearing thin, from changing my mind too often-
Why is there no groove for thinking,
No energy-saving secret gear?
Sometimes I sit absolutely still
In an uncomfortable position,
Hoping the powers that be will notice me;
Will see that I'm going nowhere, so slowly
And they will send some tempest to help move me along.
I'm also afraid they will send change;
The paralytic not only can't move,
He knows he can never move,
And his biggest fear
Is being thought capable of movement.
In that rapid swirling down the drain,
He wants someone to snag him on a branch,
Save and reclaim his manhood;
Not sit in a tree and watch him spiraling,
While repeating over and over,
Why don't you save yourself?
He knows it's too late for words;
The tears only add to the swelling river.
And if once I thought there was a savior on every corner,
I guess I just got tired of waiting-
Because the ones in the mirror only close their eyes now.
Normalcy both appalls and comforts me-
Why does it all appear so average,
As you go sprawling head first over the falls:
You know nobody elses life will change one iota,
And you know you're just paying some bill
You never even saw.
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 4:32 PM UTC
i have let you keep me up at night for
too long. there used to be a limit to what i
would allow myself to do- how much i would
allow myself to think of you, to remember your
temperaments and the sound of your footsteps-
but i think i've forgotten what and where that
line was. lately i've been scared to be another
placeholder, scared to get attached to someone
new, scared to understand someone else's hand
gestures. i used to love the way you could paint
our future with your fingertips across the air,
across my skin, across my skin.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
We are born in the same context,
We human of all forms...
We may have different environments,
races, cultures and human norms...
We may have different positions and have
different plans and goals that we pursue...
We may have different beliefs and
opinions in all things that we do...
We may have different moods, temperaments,
attitudes and personalities...
But we all live inside the globe,
separated only by land and seas...
We are all created equal and we are
all similar in many ways...
We may have different problems,
that we encounter day by day...
We all face similar challenges,
it may be great or maybe small...
But we were born and created equal,
by one God who made us all...
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
This wildfire
I cannot describe
It burns me inside out
Spilling out senseless words and false stories
These winds of change
When I saw you
Your bucket of kindness against my madness
Brings me resolution
All the colors
You helped me see
Exhale
And breathing in
This prism
Prison
My blazing temperaments.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 11:04 AM UTC
My mind is a tornado,
trash whirls in the attic,
temperaments
change
and
rain
like mercury falling through the cracks.
Little pools of glass
shimmer
and then vibrate madly
in my ears.
Where is that ********** riff,
whimpering up the scales?
where is that glacial voice
that used to break
in my ears?
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
Writing is an Art
so many people say
Selection of the words
arranged in such a way.
These words are there for all
not just for the select few
and we all have a choice
to arrange them as we do.
It's not a thing to rush
but don't take to much time,
to start just write them down
before they leave your mind.
Then we can take some time
now they are down on paper
To edit as we wish
which can also be a caper.
So many words we chose
as we move our words our way
but we find to smooth it out
that we're throwing most away.
We want our characters
to have unique temperaments.
so that when the story is read out
the audience cements.
If we can't get that bond
with our writing it may taper
but we can play around at will
as long as it's put down on paper.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 8:45 AM UTC
I hear the faucet dripping and the mechanics of the blue collar work trucks
Intervals of silence and speeding spinning tires and old brake pads
***** and worn slip resistant boots
Soot and divided revisions
Under eye circles unaware of the cycle
Botched circadian rhythms
Allegorical authority in my observations of worn hands and steel temperaments
Toast it with a beer can at 8am and proclaim I am the one who is teetering towards them
But we are them
The grown ups in the grind
We ******* grew up my friend and time applies to you and me
Are you who you thought you would be?
You are the complacent adult
The enemy of dreams
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
UP
my heart
speeds
my feet hit
down
leaving small imprints of me on the ground
running from shadows cast by the moonlight
im sure if i was the ocean id feel waves undulating inside of me
drifting apart and crashing together
pregnant with a stormy sea
feeling the contractions gather tightly and then dissipate
slowly
if only it were that unconscious an effort to let tension go
naturally,
i want to be a woman with a young happy heart that thinks it will beat forever
i want to be a woman that loves all the small things usually left unnoticed
and taken for granted
like finding a broken seashell that you can hold up to your ear
and still hear the beach
i want to be like the water flowing or sitting still
with all its different temperaments (mostly sanguine)
i want to be the lotus that struggles upstream, against the current
blooming along the way...
when i close my eyes i long to see the universe on the backs of my eyelids
i long to dance while im dreaming
but not when im sleeping
but when im feeling more alive than i have ever felt
when i am loving more than i could have ever loved
when i am flying without actually leaving the ground
when i am singing without making a sound
when i seem lost
when i am found.
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 14, 2010 at 10:46 PM UTC
*the expulsion of emotions,
the absence thereof
bastardized emigre's forevermore,
no anger, no hate,
no debating love,
even the
commonplace
the merely perfunctory,
costless meaningless,
electrical like,
a banal banner of
a thumbs up
all exposed temperaments
lobe removed
the throbbing, pulsing,
expelled, expulsing
sayonara
not even
neutral-
nah, i'm neutered
emotions splayed?
no, spayed,
incapable of reproducing
this epitaph,
this writ
composed in a
unconscious blink,
an ill unconsidered moment
writ with tinged regret
to seal the deal
don't feel a thing which is why.
I
write*
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
Here, where the sphere remains quiet,
Here, where all torment rightly seems
As do breathless winds before the riot;
And clouded visions o' cloudy dreams,
Do watch the pastures there growing,
For harvesting lads and such sowing,
For the reaping hour and the mowing,
A sluggish world of sluggish streams.
I have grown weary of sobs and laughter:
And folks that crow and those that weep,
Of what may come there in the hereafter,
For those that slowly sow and swiftly reap;
And I tire of days that grow weary of hours,
Wafted buds of those stilled lifeless flowers,
Desires and ideas; and also of such powers;
And of every single double thing but sleep.
Here growth has ruination for a neighbor;
And far from seeing eye and listening ear,
Pale waves and ****** winds force labor
On flimsy ships and temperaments to steer;
To drive out of control, and therein wither;
And woe not do those who place them thither:
But no such ****** whirlwinds blow me hither -
No such wrongs felt, seen, or so perceived here.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC