"thinkings" poems
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy
~~~
the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none
~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”
“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”
“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life
“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
of the vaguest of dearly departed
skin is not the only mot shed,
sloughing of woeful words”
“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
Her love, her modesty, behold her grace
That shine let shine be on her face.
A friend, a enemy let ever be too,
May her company to let me flew.
Her desires, her sacrifices are neglected, i think,
That she was hiding her tears to blink.
Her beauty her modesty behold her grace,
That shine let shine be on her face.
Her mummering, her talkings, her chinese gossips,
Forced me to think about her twisted thinkings.
She was, she is, she will be unique,
Smart one, dreamed one, thats on the peak.
Her beauty, her modesty behold her grace,
That shine let shine be on her face,
That shine let shine be on her face.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
•<>•
*the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages,
scar of pleasure, a forehead Cain mark, scarlet letter of pride,
for this reliving of our stories retelling is the skipped beat
of our connection not born from practical reason,
but from truths we own equally and though reason says
mine, it is not, it is only to be yours when the sharing
resonates resonates resonates resonates resonates
and every molecule, becomes a human tuning fork
in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with
the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit*
July 4th, 2017
•<>•
"If you spend enough time reading or writing, you find a voice, but you also find certain tastes. You find certain writers who when they write, it makes your own brain voice like a tuning fork, and you just resonate with them. And when that happens, reading those writers … becomes a source of unbelievable joy. It’s like eating candy for the soul."
And I sometimes have a hard time understanding how people who don’t have that in their lives make it through the day.
David Foster Wallace
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
Whispered words of demoralization
Face to face with confrontation.
Never the one to make a sound
But always the last to hold her ground.
Late night thoughts of what would have been
Makes no difference to what happened then.
Sudden insight as to who she is
Secret yearning for timeless bliss.
Wanting the best from everything
The future, the past, from anything.
Hopeless wonders brighten faces
But wishful thinkings lead empty chases.
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 4:16 PM UTC
Plick,
Pluck,
the tiny little strings in my mind.
dancing to a different tune each and every day,
the world plays my songs.
eyes wandering around the room while I play with my thoughts,
like the child I never won't be.
cross-legged and slumped over as the heated droplets dribble down my spine,
and fall from my weary lips,
that which are worn from the words I never got used to saying,
singing the songs of my each and every day,
coalesce the thinkings that have somehow let me dance to where I sit today,
forlorn petals fall from my branches in beautiful pastels, cursed to live in the winding winds.
Aday to each and every day that I sing and prance within my tiny little heart,
washing my pains away.
ill-weighed upon my shoulders,
as yet i dance some more,
beneath the turbid downpours engulfed in shades of red.
i wish't to see the blue,
the green,
the steam, arising from my skin.
narrowly weeping within my little box of horrors i keep by my side,
in remembrance of each and every day i have and will yet shed a tear.
haunted lullabies revel on and on,
each and every day,
i crave the pieces of the peaces i'd once known.
to here,
today,
i shut my eyes,
and into the blackness bursts forth colors i've never seen,
and will never see again.
to see that which i've never seen.
silent shapes shaping away falling through my fields of vision,
and inform themselves to the visions I write today,
so here,
i simply continue,
to plick,
and pluck,
the tiny strings inside my mind,
each,
and every day.
~Robert van Lingen
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 8:34 PM UTC
ravenous ....
...i watch..
the caterpillar
.....munch the leaf..
..edge to spine
in a systematic arc....
with a... squirm and
an inching motion...
he moves ......all energy
concentrated ....on ...the...
mouthpiece..... **********
rhythm,....
...cookie cutter.. nibbling...
...green mouthfuls....
...always ...just.. one ..more......
...willful ...energetic...unstoppable....
...obesity... for a cause..
...i wonder... what
wonderfully... beautifully..
..exquisite ..flutterful......
thing .....will this fat
wrinkly thug......become....
i turn to go inside.....
....i have a hankering...
for some.... green grapes..
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
who will read aloud
my poems
when I'm gone?
that old unfriended thot,
a nagging merry query
was for awhile forgot,
put on the back of an upper shelf,
where dust motes and mites
fear to trend
thoughts,
that I thought
I had dispensed with,
letting time
build illusionary wry walls,
fooling World Trade Center tall
morose forlorn,
pensiveness of
red ant armies,
incapable of
black marker redaction,
there is always one
a lingering malingerer
a sole fado singer,
playing woeful jazz in
the Quarter
on an empty emoty street,
dressed and guised
as the soul of a solitary
cancerous cell
"survivor"
cur overlooked,
biding time,
the surgeons gone,
the drugs flushed,
radiation burning
no more
begins then
the unholy
trilogy cycle
worn out, overused...
invasive categorically relentless
maybes,
what ifs,
then
oh goddamnnotagain
because believed, on knee,
I oathed that
loathed, raven nevermore,
ought
that
cracked door would be open
yet like the
New Orleans levee aged locks
hurricane succumbed
overflowed, overcome,
keyholed, infiltrated,
falllen to the enemy,
mes enfilade,
rumps up the black flag of
surrender
brain sneers
periodically,
like every other
minute, ok,
second,
coyly asking
penny for your
worthless thoughts?
just when you believed
"no mas"
was a prayer that had been heard,
teeth kicked in,
body snatching
hordes and boors
bad boys and ******
sitting high in the
saddle again,
grinning torturous
tarty smiles
at who,
at you, fool!
you're as alone in that place
as insufficiently as that
impoverished overused
word can ere convey
the nagging realization
that when asking
no one answers
when your thinkings
perish you
your cutesy sweatshirt reads
last standing poet alive,
stabbed ded by awful-truths,
you failed and
all the black cats,
have fled the neighborhood,
just when need was greatest
who will read aloud
my poems when I'm gone,
has been silently answered
by silent applause,
the last theater goer
shuffles out, and turns
and extends his middle finger
his review leaves a
singular impression,
he looks familiar,
gauntly ghost,
he has accompanied me always
and his finger is his
triumphal parting shot
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
I’m tired of this world.
My dreams and day thinkings offer rays of jubilation, but then I wake up.
I realize the sun’s light doesn't excite me
and the moon’s beaming doesn't move me.
It’s my fault.
Through my own failures I have tainted things that once gave me joy.
I have tarnished silver and gold
And they no longer spark my life.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
as i lay so full of sleep
into my thinkings burning creeps
oh lying wading walking true
how the pillars topple through
second guesses bring me back
as again i fear attack
standing tall with tattered wings
with shadows dancing, sorrow brings
in my pain i strive to be
as watching colors fluttering
though hope is hollow i take hold
and steady self though sirens ring
dizzy darkness wraps me up
and i feel the shutters shut
wind carries hoof clatter
piercing lights keep me shut
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 10:32 PM UTC
Mid day moonstruck cafe somewhere in the city
where hearts constantly swoon over brighter neon skies
and the brightest settled at the bottom of my glass,
I am madly intoxicated by the spirit of free speech.
I saw hips swaying with strawberry and kiwi atop
the mahogany brown by the kitchen sink.
They sold *** by trade for a dozen foes and fetish laden
throes of pink.
I heard someone singing Auld Land Syne at the height of
November fog.
There were cups made of porcelain blue; someone dropped a pair
right after the washroom saga.
She kept coming and going, and coming and going, and coming
until she sat on my lap; beet red, as I was, when she stood
and left a pitcher more than we could handle.
Did we eat? I remember eating and cursing because they forgot
our forks.
And spirits matched lone spirits; they tended to one another
as one performed the greatest story ever told; that of a tragedy
left undiscovered by three people, maybe more.
I fell for the bartender, as with the hostess and the
guard and that one glowing illusion made up of wishful thinkings
and mere repetitions of whatever you are for the day.
Do you remember? I counted one full mid year for the buzz to finally
kick in.
I learned a few things, spoonfed with it, that’s the truth.
Did I ever thank you?
Dogs never lie, as with kids, and we are neither.
So that one letter tied with a big plump red ribbon adorning
the bulky box of heat, with the sugary high impulse perfect for
an ADD bloke, and that monkey – he was hairy, and thus I named him Harry -
became a last-minute Thanksgiving that year.
Because friends don’t lie, and presents don’t always arrive.
Glasses break, phones give up, and people forget.
But I’m mafia like that, so I don’t.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
Do you think you're better off alone?
When the ceiling of a ***** room
Is the night sky and stars and
You're getting comfortable in late night gloom.
.
I'd hate to go home alone but I never left my bed.
.
What's worth the air in your lungs today?
Is it the people you forgot to keep in touch with
Or the helpless yearning for something
Or the life you remember you used to miss.
.
I smoke cigarettes for the warmth in my lungs
And the burn in my throat
Like one thousand bright suns.
.
You could've been vulnerable and explained that
You'd **** for an hour with warm arms around you
And a listening ear, and ****** movies on Netflix
And that cry you refused to allow yourself to do.
.
If any less of a **** was given about your problems
The whole world would be constipated
Permanently.
.
I could've pretended awkward hands in the dead of night
Meant true love, meant something, meant, at least, mutual 'like'.
But denials' for people who don't think so much
And thinkings' my best ally and my worst crutch.
.
You should take hold of your life today, get up, do something
But this bed is safe, this bed is familiar for the ambition-less
And you're the only one who shat there
So sleep in it.
.
The futures' only bright for optimists and I'd never be accused of that.
.
When I'm getting tired of wrapping a lack of feeling
Into precise stanzas, lines, and rhymes
Maybe I'll figure out what I've been rambling on about
Stand up, and live my life.
.
Eenie, meanie, miney, mo
What the **** is life good for
I'll trade you a penny, you give me a dime
And we're all still running on borrowed time.
.
You're too tired to sleep today; three more and you won't wake up.
.
This is the end, I've picked out a date
Got everything planned out, no one's awake, no one can stop me.
Wait. I chickened out, missed it again, failed like the failure I am.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
.
Isolation's only fun for the people with nothing better to do.
.
There's no good way to end something that began badly.
I should remember that
It's a good line
Almost proverbial.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 11:31 PM UTC
My left ear lobe is having an
allergic reaction to the chemicals
of my bullet-studded earring while
my right ear lobe is just fine with the
bow and arrow that's speared through.
My lungs are anaphylactic response to
the silence of your words and the nasal
voice that whinnies out of your throat.
I am not unaware of your sudden decision
to grow out the raven-colored hair out of its
buzzed stage much like how I understand
your need to refuse my query of,
"What are you?"
I admire your commitment to further your
thinkings, the reach of your leaves.
I'd kiss the state flag you have tattooed
on your forearm if it meant getting closer to you.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
Save me, dear nightmare, from the monster I will become
Your darkness alone can shroud me.
Of blinding sun and free thinkings of the day no more,
Only to the shadows do I profess my intimacy.
Breathe your worst down my neck,
With scratches of your fingernails I implore you to infect
The spotted mind, the burning woman
Lost in her own vagrant fantasies.
Feel her fire coursing in dying veins, for,
You told me once that empty veins do burn.
I’d rather they burn than grow cold from lack of touch,
Explode with misplaced passion than be forgotten for later.
With a dying breath my sanity asks your permission
To be torn to shreds from these beasts in the night
Rather than let you meet that fate.
Take your whorish damsel, your hero friend, your family too
But remember the fiery heart that remained monstrous for you.
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 7:49 PM UTC
weak willed, i listen to the collision of manic thoughts that resurface like a neverending disease whenever you are mentioned.
blue..
the whirl of memorys start, and in the mass hysteria of mental chaos i feel my fingers slip over the keys to write to you. of what is not important. simply a few meaningless words will set me up above the clouds in a serene distant state. the promise of that momentary bliss is enough to keep my reasonable side hidden away... she'll come out later, and when she comes so will the negative ideas. the "why did i say thats", and "what is he thinkings" all of which will riot through the clouds ripping them apart until i fall and smash back into newly cold reality.
of course by then the conversation will have ended and i wont know what you think of the crazed words i somehow managed to smash into thoughts that sounded like sentences at the time, but now look like the disasterous scribbled rought draft of a 5th grade report over an unknown topic.
so with the last of my resolve i hold down the backspace key until all of the mangled writing is gone. you of course have no knowledge of this inner turmoil because i never hit enter.. i tell myself thats for the best but im not sure if i believe that, then again if you lie to yourself long enough you can believe anything. so why not, it's only survival..
Nov 5, 2011
Nov 5, 2011 at 12:50 PM UTC
I lost my thought somewhere,
Over there,
Behind my leftover thinkings on time.
To the right of whenever,
I last forgot to remember,
What is was with I wanted to rhyme.
I try to remind myself,
Quite often,
To post stickies to help me recall.
But then the thought to look,
Gets lost in some nook,
And, the whole deal slows down to a crawl.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 1:09 AM UTC
I refused to scale the wall of an abandoned bridge.
You were already on the other side.
You were spunky.
That's all.
Intelligence yet to be proven, but maybe spunkiness is better.
In retrospect, it surely isn't.
If they were intelligent they would figure it out.
My rocks, my short dress, my latex undergarments.
Your arm, your tattoo, your driving.
My heads out the window because it refused to be inside.
Refusal and acceptance all in a parked car in a peaceful residential place.
"You crazy," someone said in a book I read.
Be more smart, be smarter.
Say something so we can talk about it.
Look up from that gross glowing cell phone.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
I who am enlightened, enlightens.
Althought the greatest fear or evil of all is indeed omniscience.
Fear omniscience.
The people who don't have the will to think deeper are technically happier
We should not be able to know that everything is nothing.
Knowledge brings us deeper and deeper and deeper with an absolute, ultimate ending at nothing
It's like a tunnel that everyone's in but there's no way of going back except: UNDERSTANDING
But then again understanding is a knowledge. The loop.
The third eye exists, this is the third eye.
Third eye is the "loop" realization.
But one thing is what can save anyone. That's when the thinking ends.
Where it all ends is when thoughts are reached with another's, that's when thinkings done, and that something else is the savior. A soul.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
We have two capacitive things,
1st is our physical power and is our mental abilities,
but it all depends upon our thinking,
and all thought in out mind we can bring,
all of us go as far we know,
because life can be limitless with,
someone who love us and go with us in the same flow,
no one can know what you are thinking,
beacuse it's your own limitless world that you can imagine,
all seems to be happy but i am not because i want to live in my own world in which it surrounded me all around so that no one can find me,
so that i become i want to be,
in all trurh and lies we say
can make someone happy for whole life, a month, a week or for a single day,
who will become your bestie,
it will decided by your nature
and lot of smiles which are free,
love ones are not easily found,
they can give power us to live even they are not around,
touching is the physical touch but our mentality defines how much feeling everything very important,
so that we can react on it,
and giv output at any instant,
wash the poision from my skin,
show me how to be loved again,
cause i lonely cried in the castle of glass
and the wany thing i want to see,
you to see..
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
i find
old friend
of mine
that
you have left
your footprints
in my mind
from
the days
when you tromped
down the bracken
of my narrow and
parochial upbringing
then
planted the paper daisies
and bright poppies
of free and radical thinking...
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
Words that i can't write
Permeations that flow through
binding grips of might
That vibrate only true
Your vision gives me sight
The same time, clouds the hue
of thinkings I'd got right
I Guess i thought i knew
Colors made from light
And feelings that shine through
I can't explain the fright
Of warmth in wind for you.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
All around the world there's no diffrence in love,
a picture w draw with our thinkings,
have to fill colours of lover's likings,
and which is marked by a swet smile and a tight hug,
which helps to come out when situations are struck,
and it take away th stress,
which wakeup the happiness,
a beautiful journey having bright but daring paths,
which both have to come as the life long they last's,
it's not a spacebound,
it's a temple in which calmness and satisfaction is all around,
and a happy ending is left behind,
when a unbreakable we find,
like all things we see in space and wonder,
similar to it can make disaster many times more than a bundle of thunder,
it comes as the sunlight,
but never left our heart untill we fought our life's last fight,
but it brokes,
it break all the limitatoins feeling's and hopes..
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
WHAT THE BARBER THINKS...
Snip...snip. . .snip
goes his mind
cutting through thought
with the voice of the scissors
his hands
two sparrows
dancing with Time
each head
a changing field
now flowing wheat
now bare stubble
his mind
taking flight
taking off
the too much there
dealing with
the not enough here
the making beautiful
the altering appearances
the human touch
the kindest cut
but where
( you want to know )
where does the barber's mind go
& what are his thinkings?
Ahhhh my friends
sure that would be
telling you. . .
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
Breathless as the waves hit your chest,
Soggy pants,ponytail and pink tinted cheeks.
The sky with a blend of magenta and powder blue,
Hazy thinkings and the smell of coconut trees.
Watery eyes and your sweaty palm holding his,
Gigantic dragons breathing fire underneath.
How you let them go to waste like mundane life,
How we often miss the beauty in little things!
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 10:58 PM UTC
I watch the birds fly by
Thinking of where they’ll go
My naive mind in the clouds not worrying a bit
I still question though
What is it that this boy sees
Across from me he thinks
Unknowing his life and what he’s got to come.
His fingers pretending to run on string
Going to a place more than south
I can hear him sing a tune that’s familiar to my ear
Boy do I wish to be him
And never know of a dark time
Hopefully he doesn’t take a glimpse
Too bad we grew up with these same thinkings...
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 12:45 AM UTC
I want to read your mind
at all time, everywhere.
When you're doing your hair
I want to know, what you find
the message of this day.
And if I may I would add my thoughts,
let our thinkings sink in one.
Sea and sand, hand in hand,
eachothers guides, common
travelling lights.
But I can only guess and I
don't know how to make something like that
emerge.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC