"theses" poems
1241
The Lilac is an ancient shrub
But ancienter than that
The Firmamental Lilac
Upon the Hill tonight—
The Sun subsiding on his Course
Bequeaths this final Plant
To Contemplation—not to Touch—
The Flower of Occident.
Of one Corolla is the West—
The Calyx is the Earth—
The Capsules burnished Seeds the Stars
The Scientist of Faith
His research has but just begun—
Above his synthesis
The Flora unimpeachable
To Time’s Analysis—
“Eye hath not seen” may possibly
Be current with the Blind
But let not Revelation
By theses be detained—
11.2k
As talent drained from every inch of my mind
I found reading other's work only made me jealous
I started to feel unpopular
Not enough ideas left to create anything at all. Not a single drop of inspiration.
As all of theses emotions and realizations mixed together
I became okay with copying your work.
*I can imagine you slaving in the dark
Racking your brain to find the perfect words to finish the last line*
Lucky for me I have it all right here, completed and ready to post
Finished and polished and prepackaged with a message I didn't think of but everyone will commend me for.
I hope you enjoy it.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
The Equalist!
RE: The guerrilla girl’s poster 5% women artists yet 85% of the models are female.
This poster was heralded as a feminist rebuff of misogyny and the male gaze.
It is my opinion: one of the reasons females are more sexualised than males in Western society; is because the majority of women working in a sexualised industry such as modelling, dancing, fashion or *********** choose to perpetuate that role and the connection between *** and femininity; often in industries where females outnumber the men six to one; I'm also aware that the majority of the hierarchy in theses industries are male, it seems their gender solidarity is more concerned with the money; than notions of ****** inequality; thus perpetuating the issue.
Vernacular test:
Step one - Question one:
I took a survey of 30 fellow artists asking what is a misandry? followed by what is your gender?
Step two - Question two:
I took a survey of 30 fellow artists asking what is a misogyny? followed by what is your gender?
I did offer any information or allow any of the subjects to see the survey paper, or overhear the question.
Results: 30 subjects took part in the survey; One female knew both words and their meaning, and one female didn't know what Misogyny was. (Two females approached refused to take part in the survey, all men approached engaged.)
Step three - Question three:
I then gave all the subjects the dictionary definition and asked why they thought the vernacular misandry is not as well known as the word misogyny?
(I should add that I too couldn't recall the vernacular meaning of: Misandry; though I could recall the meaning or definition of Misogyny.)
Answers:
Female... "I don't care"
Female... "It's due to a gender economic imbalance"
Female..."Blokes just don't like it when women speak out about it"
Female..."I don't get involved in protests"
Female..."I don't know"
Female..."Men just think with their ******
Female... "There's more misogynists"
Female... "Because men are pigs"
Female... "Why does it mater"
Female... "It's just a word"
Female... "I'm not interested"
Female..."Try being a women"
Female... " It's ******** it's just a vernacular"
Female..."You wouldn't understand your a man"
The other 5 Females... chose to offer no explanation.
Answers:
Male..."I don't know"
Male... "who cares"
Male... "Yeh that's interesting"
Male... Why does it matter"
Male... "Let me think about it"
Male... "Who gives a ****
Male... "What's this about"
Male... "Can I see the results later"
The other 2 males... Chose to offer no explanation.
I personally identify as human; and don't wish to be defined, labeled or marginalised; I also don’t believe that secularism in any measure is healthy or meaningful in an inclusive society.
I question why 29 out of 30 subjects had heard of Misogyny; and just one person had heard of Misandry.
Sexism is not as the dictionary suggested prejudice, stereotyping, or discrimination, typically against women.
Everyone is effected buy prejudice, stereotyping, or discrimination.
The subtleties of which is played out every day.
Feb 5, 2020
Feb 5, 2020 at 11:32 AM UTC
Label me bipolar
Who am i
Label me borderline personality disorder
Who am i
I feel i have lost identity in theses labels
I've lost my happiness
because i believed in them for so long
I've lost me
Who am i
Who am i
I stare outside my bedroom window a tear runs down my cheek
I look over to someone in the the street dancing listening to music
I think to myself that used to be me.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
they talk down through
the centuries to us,
and this we need more and more,
the statues and paintings
in midnight age
as we go along
holding dead hands.
and we would say
rather than delude the knowing:
a **** good show,
but hardly enough for a horse to eat,
and out on the sunshine street where
eyes are dabbled in metazoan faces
i decide again
that in theses centuries
they have done very well
considering the nature of their
brothers:
it's more than good
that some of them,
(closer really to the field-mouse than
falcon)
have been bold enough to try.
4k
Everyday there are moles
Lifeless rodents
Strewn about like some cat massacre
Sheba! Sheba is who brings theses gifts
Hunting at night
Leaving presents to be admired
What does she think about while in this pursuit of mole families?
Does she think?
Once, I saw a mouse being killed…
Today there were two
Yesterday one
Last week there were five on the patio
I wonder if there are warnings out in the mole community?
“Serial mole killings” they might say
Do they fear the dark now?
Dead moles, dead mice
Just death
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
*Apple pie is a wonderful treat, one of my favorite desserts.
With a warm, flaky crust, a scoop to make it à la mode,
Sweet with a spoonful of whipped cream.
But the pie by itself, doesn't make it my favorite treat.
It's where it takes my mind whenever I see it,
Smell it,
Taste it...
It was not your beauty that smote my heart, though you are beautiful.
It was not your illustrious eyes withholding a gorgeous soul.
It was not your delicate face that fills mirrors with joy when they reflect it.
All theses are parts of your magnificent, appealing body.
It was not your charm that smote my heart, though you are charming also.
It was not your gracious kindness and loving hugs as I cried into my pillow, broken by life's wicked games.
It was not your adorable bubblyness that cheered my spirits everyday.
All these are great parts of your stunning character.
It was you, only you, that stormed the keep of my frail and dying heart.
Seeing me as I was - broken like glass on a marbled floor - you gathered the shards and mended them with your own.
I sometimes wonder if there's something that reminds you of me, the way this apple pie reminds me of you.
Does a smile cross your beautiful face when I first say hello to you?
Do you stay awake tossing and turning because I won't leave your head or your heart?
Does your stomach tingle when we're separated from each other's company?
Did you cry alone at night when you and I thought we would never speak to each other again?
Do you love me?
Do you know I love you?
These are my thoughts, my questions,
After a slice of,
Apple pie.*
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
I watch a moth above an open fire.
It must be well known that moths use the stars to navigate home
that they may often mistake a streetlight or torch for one.
and as I watch it fly through the flames
again and again
burning away its paper wings
I wonder how easy it must be
to mistake the scorching heat to the warmth of a star
to think that
maybe,
if you flew close enough,
theses flames might take you home.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 12:49 AM UTC
I want to be more active
And not spew about all my feelings
I'm done pitying myself,
I just need to trust God,
Anyways here's an ending bucket list
Because I won't write back in a while:
Free swim with whales and sharks
See a lion pride
Shark cage diving
Sky dive
Ski a double black diamond
Climb a mountain
Film a tornado
Learn to surf
Learn to snowboard
Learn to scuba dive
See a wild wolf pack
See a wild brown bear
Hang glide
Paraglide
Cliff dive
Ride Route 66
Camp in complete wilderness of Yellowstone for week
Hike mount Haleakala, Hawaii, and photograph night sky
Visit equafina springs FL (again)
Camp on a beach (not crowded) with friends
Kiss in the rain
Go tree tent camping in smoky mountains
Own bonsai tree for many years
Own horses
Dye my hair (once)
Camp on my own private sail boat w friends
Write a book (actually commit, doesn't have to be good or published)
Own theses dogs: Newfie, husky, Akita
Live in Alaska
Live in the Yukon
Live in Colorado
Climb the grand Tetons and pray
Live without a cell phone
See Unimak pass Alaska and film orcas
Milk a cow
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
I'm ******* done,
With this world that I shouldn't be in.
Once found this maze so amazing
When I was small,
But not anymore.
Growing up singing church songs
Of what I was not.
How did I belong to what promoted
What I could never be?
There you go:
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
Because families were made to be perfect!
So plan all your babies,
But society will still
**** them all up in cages.
Not much waiting involved
It won't take very long.
I am not what the mormon church says.
I was a mistake.
I don't live with two parents.
I see but don't live with one.
So I'm blaming my mother,
Because in theses times that I cry
Is when I realise
That it's all her fault.
I couldn't help but be created,
So for those who hate me for being born
I'm sorry but sorry won't make it right.
To those who being a demon makes you high
I guess I'll have to just stand and watch.
Yes I've grown taller
And height has made me see,
How much that I was not meant to be.
I have friends
But one day everyone
Will get torn away.
Then there will just be nothing.
Nothing of me
Or for me, at least.
And it's almost like I only have
Maladaptive daydreams to be happy about,
But I can't because they're depressing as hell.
The fact that I exist to be able to have them is déprimant
Yet I am not depressed
But maybe I should be,
Because God knows I shouldn't be here
And dear God I'm sorry I am
Because I messed up your perfect plan.
And well if my birth really was hectic
Then why couldn't I have died then?
Because my stupid, pathetic and unwanted life
Wouldn't have lasted this long.
What's a mistake is unwanted
What's unplanned is unwanted
What I am is unwanted
What I will be to those around me
One day will be
An unwanted memory.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
I don't expect to be forgiven
I don't deserve it
I'm a failure
Denounced
I brought all of this on myself
I am the only one to blame
I've hit rock bottom
I dig outwards
It's war between me, myself and I
No one wins theses battles
They give up too soon
Cowards
The redemption I seek is gone
I have only words now
There's nothing more
Nothing
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 1:46 PM UTC
She came to him like a special angel from heaven
He had lost all faith, he was on his life number 7
She found a crack in his hardened armor
He was in disbelief, it was to his honor
They found themselves to be compatible
But his social graces where unconventional
Her beauty and wisdom sailed the seven seas
He never went beyond the forest and the trees
This Special lady tugged and pulled at his heart string
Witch made the melody of his soul dance and sing
She even stirred his passion with a big tight huggy
A thousand stinging bees filling his heart with honey
Her deep soulful eyes put a spell and made him pray
He just couldn’t stop thinking of her night and day
Putting him in a trance, not knowing what to say
This fine lady was in a class that has all that
This poor lad could only offer poems and a chat
The princess in this story was moving fearless and fast
He feared with his lack of nobility, the dream would not last
She drives, flies, floats, plays and stays first class
He always seems to be in a long line, to be the last
The feeling she gave him will forever in his heart last
He feels sad the best he has to offer, is all lost in the past
Dark mystery still surrounds this girl that likes white and black
He’ll try and sweep her off her feet with gifts of vanilla and lilac
Her biggest dream has to do with innocent smell, theses are facts
He hopes she’ll forgive him for all the thing that he poorly lacks.....
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
I love you my child
I don't know how to help you anymore
You continue to die your slow death
It's painful for us both
To watch you killing yourself with no way to stop
To see you so all alone
Living your life from hell
Watching you living with demons
I curse the devil and his minions
To watch you convice yourself to give up and die
It kills me inside
I love you child
I've always loved you and always will
I don't think you're long for this earth
The slow mental and physical deterioration
has accelerated
The doctors give you one short year
I cry for the hurt in your heart
I cry for the torture in your soul
I cry for the pain in your unhealthy body
I cry because you think I don't love you
Don't give up and die my little one
I physically ache for loving and losing you
Living a life I would never have chosen for you
I love you my child
Please see a glimpse of the light in my soul
Let it guide you to peace
Non reversible is your disease
I'm tormented with the fear of losing you
I can't watch anymore
I can't see you do this to yourself
Don't die my sweet little girl
Don't leave me behind
My love for you is insurmountable
Your love for yourself is long gone
Let's love eachother for the time you have left
I love you more than theses mere words express
I love you more than my own life
Don't cry little one for I am here
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
Sitting in a quiet place.
Listening to the ideas blossom in our minds.
The noise never ending.
When our thoughts and ideas dissipate.
They're eventually forgotten.
They were never spoken.
Billions of unsaid words floating around us.
Residual in the mind or not.
Theses words, they travel somewhere.
Whether these concepts were significant or the split second reminder of unwashed dishes.
These thoughts fly someplace calm.
That place, that realm is truly quiet.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 5:08 PM UTC
There is no shame, in moving back with your parents.
To them you still smell of diapers and the time you puked jelly beans all over the back of the car after you tilt-a-whirled your “I’m a big girl” attitude into giggles.
Around them you still clumsily tip over you own puberty when they ask you to clean your room.
You’re still in college. And that diploma on your wall is still less of an accomplishment, than when you suddenly discovered your thumbs.
So, how do you cope with the baby talk condescension scribbled over directions to empty a dishwasher properly?
1) Realize this is just temporary. You have till you’re at least 40 to fix this.
2) Clean your room of all the embarrassing childish evidence (i.e. N’Synch Posters, Pokemon Cards, Ect) . When CSI comes in they will just assume you were visiting.
3) Take long, long walks far, far away from your residence. Preferably the woods, so you may not run into any high school nemeses.
4) Pray you can get laid by someone, your age. Preferably someone you have not had any prepubescent encounters with already.
5) Eat all the free food you can.
With theses steps you can safely avoid pulling out your own fingernails with the self-loathing hiding under your bed.
Do not let it fill your Pog champion hands with delusions that you have failed to tie your own shoes, let alone pay your own taxes or get married.
Might as well give up those big girl pants and open lid cups and go back to Sesame Street and ******** in your own pants.
This…
Is only temporary.
You must say.
A temporary walk through the woods. Praying to lay down relax, and enjoy the air you are still eating.
This is only temporary.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 11:14 PM UTC
One chemical afternoon in mid-autumn,
When the grand mechanics of earth and sky were near;
Even the leaves of the locust were yellow then,
He walked with his year-old boy on his shoulder.
The sun shone and the dog barked and the baby slept.
The leaves, even of the locust, the green locust.
He wanted and looked for a final refuge,
From the bombastic intimations of winter
And the martyrs a la mode. He walked toward
An abstract, of which the sun, the dog, the boy
Were contours. Cold was chilling the wide-moving swans.
The leaves were falling like notes from a piano.
The abstract was suddenly there and gone again.
The negroes were playing football in the park.
The abstract that he saw, like the locust-leaves, plainly:
The premiss from which all things were conclusions,
The noble, Alexandrine verve. The flies
And the bees still sought the chrysanthemums' odor.
2.2k
Down in the depths of the hole, there's no sound but the beat of my heart
And my dark charred thoughts
That drip like black oil
That everything it touch's, it stains and soils
Thoughts of death and gruesome memories
From them there is no where to flee
So I lay in the bed curled into a tight ball
Just waiting to hit the bottom of the fall
There is no one to talk to, no one to call
No one knows how this inky darkness flows
How it consumes the soul and continues to grow
I'm imprisoned in theses bones, this skin
Is this how the end begins
I've prayed for love and light
But I've only been given glimpses of that site
Any happiness I have fought for is snatched away
In just a short few days
So now I pray
For death and a shortening of my years
To live a long agonize life is my fears
Not one month goes by that tragedy doesn't strike
It's like trying to get through life on a trike
You pedal really really hard but get no where
To tell the truth I just don't care
I want to become totally unaware
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 12:35 PM UTC
It was a highway that brought me here
Stuffed into a expensive car with four adults and good music
We drove for what seemed hours
Arriving on the slick, black streets of the Emerald City
Down a rabbit hole of old cars and termite ridden stairs
Past an old couch and a stray cat
Into a cold room with heaters stacked and jumbled
Full of pianos and good and beer
People I've known for twelve years
And people I've met only once
People I don't know
Different skins, of their own, of animals
Frizzy and cropped hair, wine and mason jar glasses
Walls painted silver, gleaming under forty year old lamps
Mismatched furniture and occupants alike
Sirens singing in the background
Children running through the foreground
Old friends and a blind man with a big dog
Visual artists and IRS agents
Musicians and carpenters
Mechanical engineers
Cobbled together around and old fireplace and a rosewood piano
Sharing stories and songs, sons and daughters
Tales from the road, and wedding pictures
I sat on an orange pleather couch in the makeshift kitchen
Watching theses people's children play with bionicles and dolls
Reading books and drawing on walls
Playing drums and answering calls
Fighting for bathroom stall
These are my people
I know them all
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
Open myself up to you
Like a gentlemen grabbing the door
This felt so special
Things were perking up
Happy, had something to look forward to
Only to be let down by insecurities
Am I the only one who's strong
Must I carry the weight of my burdens and those around me
Must I guide you down the path, as if you didn't know
Must I answer questions before they are asked
Must I be 20 steps ahead, as if 10 wasn't enough
Must I be held to a standard of perfection
Must I
Apparently I must
My strength is shadowed by your fears
How much evidence is needed to show I'm different
What must I do
Tell me
Explain to me as if I've never heard before
Every detail, so I may tread softly
For I fear your insecurities may trap our growth
Poaching on our happiness
I've shown my selflessness, as if theses words don't paint that picture
I've been down to one knee as if you were royalty
In attempts to prove my loyalty
I need to be shown you feel the same
Blinded by your actions
You've let me down
Broken me down
But help me rebuild
Open your eyes, loosen your jaw and open your ears
Speak to me your ideas to rebuild the rubble at our feet
So we may protect ourselves from the elements of error and fear
Prove this to me
For I can't do this alone
Travel this two lane road with me
So we may reach our destination together
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
Sadly enough
I am just not sad at all
Buy not happy either
Just indifferent it seems
To this world around me
And I’m tired of thinking
About all of theses thoughts
I am screaming for help
But my voice is trailing off
My mind keeps wondering
And my judgment keeps faltering
While I’m just stuck here
Figuring out my emotions
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
i was sitting at the edge of the world
pondering the ocean and how i could fall off the end
time passes, and i thought of you
wide open spaces are how i remember you now
even if memories consist of tight spaces lying naked in your basement bedroom
blue eyes come home to mine
i was told i was the runner but i only ran away to you
blue eyes come home to mine
lets spend hours in wide open spaces
you know we could love forever if once again
your blue eyes saw mine
and in these wide open spaces i love you
in these wide open spaces i begin to wonder
what it could of been like if you wouldve stayed
i can see you and me in theses wide open spaces
and of i go to college when the leaves turn shades of brown
i wonder where you are in these big wide open spaces of mine
and sometimes i think id like to be in these big wide open spaces with you
blue eyes come home to mine
i was told i was the runner but i only ran away to you
blue eyes come home to mine
lets spend hours in wide open spaces
you know we could love forever if once again your blue eyes saw mine
i just want your blue eyes home with mine
blue eyes come home to mine
newfoundland, summer 2010
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
Its these moments I am thankful for,
these small moments that to anyone else
might seem insignificant
Theses small moments with
your head resting on my shoulder
love caressing your smile
like a gentle wind
It is these moments that I live for
these small moments that to anyone else
might seem insignificant
These small moments where
our eyes meet and
I see the same person I met
on that very first day so long ago
These small moments where
I feel your hand in mine
rough and weary but still
holding on to me like you did in the
beginning
These small moments when
I smile at our picture beside our bed
when you nestle beside me
drawing my body back into yours
These small moments when
you look at me and I know
just like I did that day
You are mine, I am yours
These small moments that
I will treasure forever
keep them locked inside a tiny box
in my heart
And I will give you the key
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 12:48 PM UTC