"unconfirmed" poems
I guess executives like people major in excuses.
Everytime something drastic happens.
We know the comment or generalization is coming.
We know when gas prices arises.
That an excuse is coming our way.
Do they think we were born yesterday.
If a forest fire happens.
If rain never comes.
We know prices of fruit will be like a track runner.
Excuses.
Some legit.
Some just given.
We constantly aware of that late employee.
Where you're just waiting to hear that one news.
Traffic was bad.
Or something else given to cover up being late.
Excuses.
Some confirmed.
Others unconfirmed.
A honest days work for your boss.
Just to hear them say get out.
Because we filing bankruptcy's today.
Excuses.
We all can't say we hadn't used one.
Because we are only human.
Late for a date.
You better have a good reason.
And, we complain about the lateness of the seasons
Excuses.
Something we never get use too.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 8:55 AM UTC
is it really greener on the other side or is it just hope? our lives in such peril that we hold on to an unconfirmed truth, an escape from the agony in which we call life, looking at the green pastures wondering what is on the other side, waterfalls and fresh air or is it just as polluted as there which suffocates us ,
Sep 13, 2021
Sep 13, 2021 at 10:02 PM UTC
Directing the populace to march through cities and suburbs
Rifles held in militant fashion, all are one
Dictate the reformation and find solace in those who are still here
Leverage made by battles won, solitude to those who are all gone
Eaten by the moths in sand, my clothing is stripped into bands
Crazy not to walk away when my friends disintegrate in my hands
When your leg flies through the air and hits me knocking me away
Looking into the sunset and pondering if it's real or the fray
Sober is not acceptable here, crack the bottle into the lake
Swim under the radar and love in flying bullet parades
My gathering for a new world, will wait patiently out in the rain
While the ruler converts all their wives and drowns away your sorrows in its veins
Genius, pure and swift. Powers are unconfirmed regrets
Should I have let you win when you begged for the apex, the crest
Stupid and young all are, escaping from the facility's sweet arms
Simple and refined we will accept you into our swarm
Remember the cars are gone, the money gone, religion gone
Remember all is mine, all is yours, all is ours
Remember ownership and government is dead
Remember all of your worries are in your head
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
We sit here, you and I, at this table of unconfirmed love.
How I wish you could read this heart of mine! You would see your name, your face, your heart, your soul burned within me.
You have branded and smote me with your dazzling beauty!
I would sensually whisper to you every word I have left locked inside my love for you. How every time I see you my breath staggers in my lungs and my eyes are awash in your harmonious grace.
That I dream of you nightly and we are together, yet you are stolen away from me every time dawn shines her morn light.
If you would know of this secret locked away passion I have for you, would you entice your desire for me? Would you pursue the calling of your heart for me?
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 11:51 PM UTC
What’s left of you is in boxes,
Mother-that-kissed-goodnight.
Who introduced us to stallions and
Bullet hole portraits of John Wayne.
How to be on trail. Avoid poison oak,
Ivy. How to avoid horse buck.
Your parents stopped praying
The rosary after you went terminal.
Reader who believed in a book
For her and a book for the kids.
Stephen King and R.L. Stine.
What remains of you are stills. Above the refrigerator.
Beside the TV.
One of when unseen bass swam through your shins.
Rivers rose and drowned the lilly pads.
Sunk the cattails. You wore the geranium dress,
Murky up to your knees. A hand on the dog.
You’re coffin’s in the ground,
Kathryn. The prenatal nurse.
The one who brought hers to
Rainbow island for fish and family,
Not for lighting clap and sideways rain.
But don’t worry, never mind that.
Thanks to cancer, you are bones.
Some believe you were reborn a cardinal. Nested
To watch your children listen for bats at dusk.
Their echoes unconfirmed,
And your songs too faint.
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 12:38 AM UTC
He always wears longs sleeves
And anyone who tries to be friendly to him
He pushes away
He isolates himself
I've never seen him with friends
I gave him my number
He didn't text me back
I wonder if there is a reason behind it all
Why he likes to live alone, in silence
I'm going on the same trip as him
Late in the year
Should I try to get into his head
Try to talk to him
And unravel him?
Break down his walls?
I'd like to try
I'm not afraid
Of finding his inner demons behind the walls
I have my own
I'm not afraid
But I'm afraid
It isn't my place
Or that he will be angry with me
For trying to melt his steel walls
If I fail
If he doesn’t let me in
Is it worth a try?
Will it seem too stalkerish
If I try to break down his walls?
It never hurts to knock
But it hurts if they open the door
Just long enough to hurt you
Then shut you out again
I don’t know
What do you think?
Please comment and let me know your opinion. I need advice on that.
He is really attractive but beyond that he fascinates me. I liked him the moment I saw him. He plays violin and basketball and I really want to get to know him but I am scared and I am worried he will freak out that I am being creepy and insistent after I gave him my number and he didn’t text me back. (Although it is unconfirmed that he owns a cellphone and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t) I have heard of other girls who tried to talk to him but he was pretty standoffish and they all gave up on him. Should I give up too?
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
So often he attempts
to change words
he has said.
Words that he says later
do not mean
what they convey
There will never be
enough blotters, or erasers
or black markers to cover all
that he would amend
or alter if possible
A secret disclosed
once redacted
becomes evidence
that he desires his words
to remain unconfirmed
A secret is a secret
only if concealed,
totally hidden
and never unearthed
Redaction is an action
to revoke or nullify
words and actions that
may or may not be undoable
Jul 23, 2019
Jul 23, 2019 at 5:23 PM UTC
We were lovers once, for all of time eternal.
That's no fabrication, says old Sugarman;
but that's a concretal fact.
We spoke as friends, atop the canopy of rainforest.
Costa Rican insight, we speak in tongues of delight,
pushing, pulling, pushing upon desire - all the while
smiling serenely into your ***** cocktail,
aware of the pressing concerns
into your later freedoms.
We love. We love and love instantly.
Skin baptised in humidity and rains rising in abundance
across the steep
valley of further treetop,
fading to cloud
beneath us.
Beneath us is the world: unbounded and plenty.
I settle eyes onto yours, stomach knotting, yet ensured,
as smiles weep to emancipated longing,
and this sheer belonging now felt
for this; our Eden, cast upon Astral shores.
In prophetic view of paradise, I pour water from a jug.
Clear as mind, I see through solar nourishment,
the expanse of all life, the life that crescendos
each time you sip on your straw.
Memory cleansed of all magnitude, now but fragmented
thoughts of nothings and second-hand sentiments,
I remember only the passage of our time up here,
the balcony of heaven and of Earth combined.
We kiss in the rays of Astral sunlight,
brighter than the longest of our day!
We sip red wine leant across the railings,
your dress clings emphatically
to the motions of your body.
It becomes as if brutality never existed.
I concede to life
and its offerings for all.
I kiss you greedy in the fast-fading sunlight,
as the sky is re-birthed in the conception of tomorrow.
I kiss you hard on the mouth
as we survey the old kingdom of man,
and these dying moments
before our next subliminal fall.
Please stay with me now in suspension,
this devoted region of nature, of plumage
and the removal of all sin.
I am done with whiskey slurs
and cigarette burns,
of chasing zeros
and memories unconfirmed.
I am done with complaining
about all of tomorrow,
about all of the pound
pound
pound of the heart
that resides in this chest,
this useless vehicle of flesh,
of matter born to die
and innocence always corrupted.
Please stay with me now,
as I go down
down
down...
please stay with me now,
my new sight.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
When she cries
Oceans withdraw their
Hands from thirsty
Shores to lend tears
To her worries.
When she cries
My hands find her cheeks
And collect little
Beads of diamond from
Velvet surfaces.
I grace my lips with
Divine martinies, and as
Softly as I can, kiss their
Path to where lids meet,
Then lips, as if trying to
Breathe them back into
Her heart through her
Mouth, and by that saying I'm sorry
That I left my love unconfirmed
Last morning.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
Seed
time
harvest
eat
think
form
seed
sewn
thinking
information
unconfirmed
demonstrates
disinformally
monostichidity
Nov 13, 2024
Nov 13, 2024 at 9:23 PM UTC
We're in court, or so it seems
But who is the judge and who is the jury I'm yet to find out
Stuck in a nightmare that flirts as if a dream
Beckoning me with whispers that bombard my ears in shouts
In confusion a mirage appears so holy as if the Mother
Words of comfort and guidance ensue
Yet their meaning is without clarity and their message undiscovered
Rendering me with doubts that parade as if true
The fog eclipsing clarity washed away with the sunrise
To reveal evidence and proof of my unconfirmed assumptions
Yet still the spectators lean towards my demise
Grabbing at any morsel overruled for their personal consumption
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
The problem is that I am searching for spontaneous combustion, the kind of instant burning up and irrevocable passion...emotions forged so deeply that it hurts as much as it feels good, simultaneously.
The problem is that despite the exterior walls and unconfirmed emotional detachment issues, I think that deep down I want romance and to be swept off my feet.
The problem is that either the above does not exist or that I am not good enough to be a recipient of it.
The problem is perhaps that I am the problem - I am not too naive nor ignorant to have not assumed this. So I suppose I will just have to fall in love with literature
And fall in love with the beautiful
And fall in love with the ******
Did you notice how that was a Scott Fitzgerald reference
Probably not
And that defines the elusiveness of what I am looking for
And it illuminates the fact
That perhaps it does not exist at all
Or even more heartbreakingly
That it was not destined for me
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 6:18 AM UTC
I think there is something wrong with me
for I cannot love as deliciously
or deeply as I used to.
I cannot be swallowed by the hope of
unconfirmed fictions I once called love.
There is a still an inkling of
fierceness that wants to clench someone
so tightly to my body that we become one
wet with the desire of perpetual ****** motions.
I am broken for the shadow kin still sleeps within,
longing to uncover soft warm pale skin underneath
her tight white lacey dress, and thin white sheets.
I still long to let my fingers swirl,
submerged in a wetness of that beautiful girl
gyrating as our tongues vibrate with
the sweet sexiness of her pink part lips.
I am broken because I would let her
harness me, riding to find whatever she needs,
bending my tongue to taste
sweet strawberry juices from below her waist.
But that will never be.
I am broken because I no longer believe
there is anything less then
masturbatory fantasies
left for me.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 9:09 AM UTC
It has come to our attention and you need to be aware
That there’s a home invader out tonight and you must be prepared.
On the street he’s known as “Nick” and self-described as merry,
He’s five foot six , three hundred pounds and his cheeks are red as cherries.
His modus operandi is to enter via flue
And there are unconfirmed reports he’s bearing gifts for you.
He’s fond of blended whiskey so you’re wise to leave a drop
and some carrots for his caribou who wait on your rooftop.
If your kids find it hard to sleep tonight I well can understand
It’s said this creep is keeping book on every lass and lad
If you catch him near your Christmas tree, you’d best stay out of sight
Or he’ll wish you “Merry Christmas” and to all a good night
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
My lover left me for a handsome man.
She said that she was done with lazy love,
and instead; she wanted to work
for his arms in the evening.
My mother left me at the grocery store.
She said that she had nothing left to give me
past the shelves of fruits bathed
under artificial light.
My friend left me for the city nights.
He put a needle in his arm to see
if he was still human; to see
if sensation was still available at all.
My teacher left me with multiple choices.
He said that he had grown half-blind,
because beauty faded in his wife's demise.
Now, there was nothing worth seeing.
My father left me with photo frames.
Forced pictures of frozen life,
with bones eaten by cancer
and a future left unconfirmed.
My job left me in poverty.
It tethered me to caustic chemicals;
stripping my flesh, interrupting sleep,
withering youth before its time.
My former lover left me with memories
polluting each home-town street.
She passes across the road in traffic fumes;
emerging red-coated in my mind.
My cat left me for a sweet release.
She lay down her head and bid farewell
to a world of little experience
but that of my paternal love.
My life left me for a more worthy cause.
All potential spread to another, as I elected
avoidance; pushing out all friends
and leaving just memories.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
One on one,
Swimming upstream.
Meet and greet.
Growth and development.
Fluid sounds.
Crowning glory.
Gender unconfirmed.
Welcome to the world.
So what's to come.
No one knows,
Just begun
Life goes on.
(c)LIVVI
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
the whiskey scorns the back of my throat
as I return to staring into Space. It's almost empty.
save for the holes.
I park my dark, near the tiny star -
on your cheek.
I go where the rain has feelings
and a drought is a flood
of affection...
scorching the tongue
in my besotted
skull.
a cavalry of orchids
forged upon the moon -
but anointed near the flames
at hand. the ready hells
at our door.
bathing in the ashes
of our dreams...
as our celestial trajectory
descends -
into the palm
of destiny.
or so I imagine.
eventually.
but the holes cannot be contained.
nor the spark that divides them.
we suffer for no reason.
the universe is feeling everything.
It is not Thinking,
It is knowing the terrain
of the unknown Grace.
and what the holes may consume
soon returns...
and what happened
was a life.
unconfirmed.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 9:18 AM UTC
The role of listening.
Is to pay attention.
Any type distraction means the conversation will be edited.
And sometimes, it should.
Except it can create more problems.
Classic example:
Love is a power weapon if used right.
If spoken from ear to ear from the first to the last.
Each of the seven words should be mentioned.
It shouldn't come to the last person.
As, love if used right is powerful.
Because it means someone in the middle was distracted.
Love as a weapon.
Is more powerful than a gun.
One can take a life.
While the other can enhance it.
See the way we find our choice.
And use love to impress them to us.
So when a rumor is spread.
Just remember.
That exactly what it is?
When unconfirmed.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 10:01 AM UTC