"unclearly" poems
There is ***** for sale and wombs for rent
For same *** couples it’s cash well spent.
While heterosexuals breed their own
Gay couples, as yet, cannot clone.
A lesbian couple who had the itch
is suing their ***** bank for “bait and switch”.
They wanted a Caucasian baby
and had requested ***** from vial “380”.
The donor of that ***** was white,
Handsome, smart, just “not their type”
They were given another’s ***** instead
And an interracial child was bred.
It seems they were given vial “330”
The vials, it seems, were marked unclearly.
An honest mistake by a nearsighted boomer?-
or one with a twisted sense of humor?
A civil suit will go to trial
seeking damages for a mixed race child.
If their motion to dismiss should meet denial
The “bank” will suffer premature withdrawal.
In which event bankruptcy looms
For the bank that supplies the ***** for wombs.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 7:33 AM UTC
An introverted saint
An introverted saint named after a saint
Who died for rebirth of faith
A ******* is very intuitive and alive
Like poem
But that’s not who you really are
You are running away from your past
Your pain you took risk to give rot to a friend’s innocent body without why
The way it glows how the light holds you in silence, taking care of you
Experience the energy of where all life began when you met a friend
And yet you keep it so close to you
So you don’t have to be afraid of who you are... you might lose your mind you refuses to take it factual. A ******* wants to spend the cell with who he is.
A ******* sees an angel for the first time is a friend when he told a friend is an angel without a ******** feeling in unclearly to complete desirable to be aware
Know your purpose feel your birth
Hear at first faintly then distinctly is a friend’s a state of harmony
The sweet strains of our union
Our friendship heats up the cold universe,
And give your tired desperate heart you lost your introversive
Purified by our kisses, are eternally healed.
It’s destiny by the way it’s weird feeling
It is magic?
A ******* is a weak man that he is extremely hazy
the way narcissism made him lack.
Your brilliance
Your heart is very weak because of flattery
You are not afraid in the world you get hidden away from a friend’s sight as light that from your introversion compare with extrovert in experience
But you can’t cook to save your life for who you are, you are so desperately to erase in anything with good thing come in your timeline to move to make sure you are safely where your home is with you
To believe in something that’s all around us
But hidden from our sight
The gift of the faith that destiny is willing to create us to be purpose to meet in happenstance that who we are
Life can be kind and zealous
Because you are beautiful. —They move me.
An introverted saint
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
Thinking about the meaning behind things and how people hear them differently, like how ppl hear them differently, like how people heere them differently, like how people hear dem differently, like how people hear them diffrinly.
and see them a little more unclearly, like yesterdays crystal-future-seeing-glass orbs
and thinking about teammates and how they work together, but think alone, and there's nothing there in the air or to wear and tear at together anyway
and thinking about teammates and their roles and their lines and their act and their heights and how all of these futures are lonely
thinking about strengths all tacked up on a bulletin board of connect-the-dots exercises
thinking about connect-the-dots stories and who is listening
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
Never cut, please
Mind won't be at ease
Say that you will
And everything shall heal
Sight of you
Makes me anew
I really don't mind
If you ain't that kind
At least you see me
Just unclearly
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC
hapax legomenon “Texas Women”
**(hapax legomenon: a term of which only one instance of use is ever recorded)
(Texas Women: a term of which only one instance of use is ever recorded)**
for
ꏳJ LꂦVꏂ & Cne’
once again, they sweet sweep me off my feet,
carry me to the Court of Finger Wagging,
to be accused of hating and/or loving Texas Women
simultaneously, diffidently, consequentially, unclearly differentially
this is no flower picking exercise, shaking of the head,
“he loves me, he loves me not,” rinse and repeat,
a northern trick to confuse the plano truth,
warns the Judicial Triumvirate
your Honors, I swears,
never wrote those conjunctive words,
Texas, Women,
never ever, until just now,
a genuine hapax legomenon
akin to taking god’s name in vain,
if one dare ever utter these words, and
blows the opportunity,
well, shotgun, if you know what I mean,
one gets only
one chance
so cut me quick to the chase’s conclusion
let’s go to my defense single & singularly:
true, of women I have written, and
“too much,”
is a mere theortical constriction
I love to love women,
and a 57 variety pak is a-ok by me
an inordinate number of poems may have referenced
females hailing from a certain great state,
but never together, side by side, have I ever employed
that phrase, for my imaginations
are more than sufficient
have loved women from many places, too many faces,
some beyond measure, now a forever,
a hoarded memoir unpublishable treasure,
some, it’s true, possessed jeans and a cowboy hat,
and dangerous boots, which one admired from a
goodly distance
they brook no con, tilting their heads quizzically,
there is no maybe with women from this place,
maybe you love us, maybe not, but either way,
there ain’t no maybe in our emotional lexicology!
ok.
the only woman I ever hated is dead and buried,
and yes, I shot her dead for being ornery cactus mean,
so by this roundabout roundup summation,
you may put your head on pillow tonight,
smiling confident thinking that your hapax legomenon,
is deep in the heart of a grown boy hailing from nyc,
still a crazy straight shooter
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 1:22 PM UTC
stay busy
fill every moment
with thoughts to fill my mind
to occupy my senses
divert my eyes
distract my heart
stay busy
I've been deceiving myself
or is this the deception?
I acknowledged it
I accepted it
but what if
I didn't?
With the first free moment
in weeks
I see clearly
or unclearly
I can't tell
all I know is that I hate
not being busy
being alone
and it doesn't help
that you've disappeared
from home
from my life
from the face of the earth
stay busy
and I'll survive
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
Tonight, the sky is seemingly so dark. I can‘t even see the bitty stars that used to shimmer. But, it‘s lucky that tonight, there is a moon for me to see. Even if, I can see it unclearly due to the curtain of the clouds, the pale moonlight can fulfill my heart alot for it makes this night have some light. And, this very light helps a lonely man like me to get by through this lonesome night.
- Stephen Hugs
20/10/2013
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 1:03 PM UTC
Today it will rain once again,
In the windows of cloudy eyes,
Where I and you unclearly exist,
On the lotted shores of memory.
Stoic birds wading upon waves,
That grieve and go, riding, broke,
An endless sweeping of sorrows,
Carried by moans on the wind.
In the windows of our new eyes
There was, then, true gleaming
And we were ***** by seasides,
Among sparkles of stars and sun.
The island so far away was here,
Perfect, bright, cast of nowadays,
Land only love in whisper knows
O, by the graceful seasides only.
Now, dry, shelled and castaway,
The wind is shrilling its long keen
And the cradle bones of our love
Lie still, asleep in sinking sands.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
These subcategories of articles
That separate theory from fact
Are lines that, really,
Are quite unclearly drawn.
Categories for theory and qualia
That put me under the impression
That everything is based on a conjecture
And it's all in my head.
Qualia is defined as being subject
To your sense perceptions
Brought on by stimulation of phenomena.
Theory is a system of ideas used
To explain something.
But don't we theorize everything,
Based on our qualia?
If we perceive that a rose is red,
And we theorize that this type of rose
Will always be red because we will always see it red,
Does that really make it red?
Is my red your green,
And you only call it red because to you need to call it something?
Or is that just our theory that to be comfortable
Is to fit in and be accepted by everyone?
And that to challenge what is called fact
Is to be rejected?
Where do we draw the line
In these thickly worded and sinking articles?
Is it where we can finally say that
Everything is based on theory that our qualia subjects us to?
If so, am I under the correct theory that
I really am alone?
That my sense perceptions just play tricks on me
So I don't think to hard, or go insane?
Is insanity just theory based on qualia?
Or maybe I should be under the theory
That being a thinker like this
Subjects me to the unpleasant qualia of a perceived headache.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
everyone thinks you're different
well so do I
I conclude that everyday
what a wonderful thing to see
your green eyes shine when you look at me
how will this end I always ask
"don't leave me here" I always whisper unclearly in your ear
silently enough that you can't hear but loudly enough I can say I told you
just keep on holding onto me
trust me
I won't let go only if you said
"I found something better,
now leave, now go"
I would listen and I would
but I would never do that to you my dear
I hope you feel the same
I know you have potential to always be here
but I can only hope and pray that I'm right oh oh dear
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
Life spent as lent
Twirls of uncondescending senseless ideas my mouth spew
Saying words I didn’t meant
Sadness of all leafs autumn threw
Where did it all go, all the magic´s gone?
All is seen unclearly beneath the pelagic under the sun
Reminders from yesterday make me reminisce de past
Concluding with hopes that this won´t last.
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 10:39 AM UTC
I can't say I have many friends,
So I glued faces to my ink pens.
They lend me words where people fall short
And sort these emotions to thoughts I've absorbed, see.
I've become rather smitten with comments that are written
Because while the pen is mightier than the sword
It's my teeth to my tongue I have bitten
So while my words remain sitting in front of my screen
I reread and delete them and make them more terrific for an audience to read.
Still I over think causing my thoughts to seep and the ink still bleeds.
But I'm getting ditracted, this is about my friends, the pens, not me.
Mr. Bic writes quick with his thoughts in a rush
And Sharpie goes deep but tends to make my words gush
Uniball makes my mind think unclearly
as my hand runs across making words all smeary
Lastly, a rainbow gel pen who is such an old friend,
Her name was lost long ago.
They are flawed by their nature,
Still they remain the closest friends I know.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 3:45 AM UTC