"undecipherable" poems
When I'm feeling down and it's hard for me to see
I just think of when you slept over, watching over me
and it makes me feel better, but really not that much
I reach out my hand, frightened to throw your hand a clutch
You taught me how to play this thing, then you left me here
I'm running from my sadness and I'm running from my fear
Something deep inside of me will always miss you
but you're gone and there is nothing I can do
(undecipherable) but like it ever was
My guitar needs tuning and the TV is in a fuss
I lay awake and cry at night, waiting for the sound
of your footsteps coming up the stairs as I watch a show downtown
You taught me how to play this thing, then you left me here
I'm running from my sadness and I'm running from my fear
A broken string, a broken heart is all I have to hold
but just like you have always been, I'll try to be as bold
I lost a real good friend today, but you had to leave
(undecipherable)
and now I hope, and every night I pray
that you are kept safe and brought back to me someday
I miss you and I love you, this you already know
What I didn't tell you is that you're my hero
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 3:52 PM UTC
Sick of your politics
[undecipherable]
I guess I never acted
To be free of this
Running backwards to blind myself
and please don't say the names
No one wants to hear them, not from you
Do your best
to work things out
without making a scene
I want, I want, I want, I want
I just want
cover it up
real real good
I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried
I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried
But just can't.
I used to think things were pure and good
I jammin' might with you
But that was then and this is now
and all I want to do
is eat you
Is eat you and beat you
and beat you
Is eat you, is eat you, is eat you
I'm over it, I'm over it, I'm over it
I'm over it, I'm over it, I'm over it
Your money buys you everything
but I'll just fade away
and it's **** good and it's no good
I can't stand it for much longer
I'm getting, I'm getting, I'm getting
so hungry
I can't deal with you anymore
All the things,
the things that you can do
and it will stop
It will stop
The anger just builds up inside
I feel like I'll blow up
I'll blow up
I guess I'll blow up
Now and then, a long, long time
I'm so **** tired
and now it's through
I'm almost done
and all I want to do
is hate you
I hate you, I hate you
I want to spit in your face
Hate you
I hate you
I'LL GET ON THE BUS AND **** YOU!
I hate you
I hate you
Hate you
I'm over it, I'm over it, I'm over it
I'm over it, I'm over it, I'm over it
I'm over it, I'm over it, I'm over it
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 3:45 PM UTC
undecipherable loss
• [it's steeper near the roses]
attenuation
• [the mystery in the trees
and the mistral sound of your breathing]
dreams of perfection: floral dress summer
• [the apnea and the scream]
a touch of labyrinth to this world
• [in the fair and harmless light]
imagine somewhere close by
• [imagine him waving as you say goodbye]
Dec 7, 2022
Dec 7, 2022 at 2:28 PM UTC
fragments of sky
litter my thoughts like pieces of a shattered image
like scraps of burnt wood painted with
parts of some masterpiece scene
of a carnival in the town churchyard
with frolicking jesters and laughing children
a quaint country place where fiddle players
and young girls dance and sing
but such as this place is now no more than image
pressed into the fire consumed wood
no more than some forgotten place filled
with forgotten loves and forgotten lovers
i lay there in the ruins of the church
three hundred years on from the day it met its fate
where now a oak flourishes true and tall
such transient things such as our lives
have such beauty but fleet as birds to roost as
they disappear in the first burst of rain
fragments of sky perceived
in small spaces given by the leaves overhead
the dusty lens of my mind
churns over the unfolded event
like the lost man peering with confusion's
at the undecipherable map of clouds
shifting by the butterfly light wind
i sneak my way into a shaft of
the suns warm light
and await the birdsong to renew its
speech and thought
they look down on my reclining form
in grass below
ready to take wing should i leap to devour
but i will not rise
i am trapped by the changing mosaic of the sky
its simple tones belie the beauty it contains
grey over blue and white edges
such simple ever changing permanence in the sky
the cloud moves swiftly away from my minds grasp
and the birds remark to one another the
lateness of the day
i open heart and eyes
stand and walk away from open sky
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
near the surface,
just beneath the sounds of our feet
among the bones, are arrowheads
maybe a spent cartridge from the bluecoats
who brought a strange thunder,
disturbing the a cappella birdsong,
deeper
hidden in eons of darkness, unperturbed,
until now, by the shallow, scratching efforts
of the creatures above,
a black organic soup, remnants of plants
and animals who once breathed
like we, we who now voraciously drill
through the tired but tenacious skin
to reach a rich marrow, one we resurrect
to blaspheme in our mobile ovens
and scatter ashes
on a deaf and dying rock
Post Script:
The earth never forgets.
Whatever we do to ****** it is recorded, often in ways undecipherable to man, but etched permanently somehow, somewhere.
Does the earth seek revenge?
Or is it retribution, or a reckoning?
Anything that has the power to recall every act in infinite detail and in perpetuity has the potential to respond.
Maybe a propensity to respond?
Is the earth an angry god?
I do not know, but
the earth never forgets.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 12:04 PM UTC
the sailing stones
were thought to be
a phenomenon
it was incomprehensible
that a rock
the inanimate
of all inanimates
should show signs
of movement
here was mystique
here was mystery
perhaps a message
left by
cosmic energies
or
higher beings
undecipherable
unexplainable
there could have been
beauty
in never knowing
in letting
the idea remain
pure
untainted
restorative
alas
we cannot bear
the unexplained;
where the miraculous
is founded
in uncertainty
we must probe
and pry
until an answer
is found
whether for benefit
betterment
or
hindrance
perhaps a balance
can be found
between the known
and what remains
acceptably unknown
before
the intrigue
and enchantment
are marred by
the bland
the sterile
the prosaic
Apr 13, 2022
Apr 13, 2022 at 9:53 AM UTC
Cure me
Of this plague
That’s snaking around my throat
Allow me to tiptoe
To avoid confrontation
Social humiliation
I would speak if I could only say the words
Cure me
Of the echoing dull in my heart
A dying buzz
A cycle of depression
Undecipherable ****** expressions
Stunting my progression
I would sing if I didn’t care who heard
The vines circling my feet
Threatening to tighten
Forever clutching
Me in its embrace
I need you
You say you know me
Maybe I don’t want you to
The biggest lie, can’t you see?
Because I don’t even understand me
I hide behind poetry
I would pray to a God, if I were sure
Sure that this world kept its promises
Every inhale a burning desire
Reverberating thoughts clouding
Polluting my mind
Exhale
This isn’t a plea
But I am trying to oversee
But this love I feel for you
Isn’t meant for just one,
It needs two
This legacy of pain
Scorching my veins
Spreading the plague
A world filled of vague
Cure me
Before it spreads
To you
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
Every pen turned to crayons in my hand
Every letter undecipherable
Just a squiggle
No one knew what I was trying to say
But I drew beautiful pictures
Mom hung colors on the
Refrigerator
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 8:52 AM UTC
You shout and scream
Angrily saying words that you don’t mean
And in the heat of the moment
You’re only looking to burn everything that you see
Because you my love, are an Arsonist
You and I are tangled in a web of miscommunication
Whereby you speak a different kind of English-
A dialect where I hate you translates into I love you
And the bruises that you cover me with,
Are just secret poems that you leave on my skin
I don’t understand the poems though,
For they were poems written in an ancient alphabet;
A one that is undecipherable to the rest of the world-
Only because you are the misunderstood lover
That is speaking in tongues that no one has heard yet
So I laid there bare as you read them aloud to me
All broken souled and on your knees,
And I saw the shame in your famished figure
While you stuttered and recited your apology.
You always told me that you loved me through a broken telephone,
Why?
And made me promises that I knew could not be kept,
Why?
I heard you say that that time, was the last time…
But all that your words are are simply tongue twisters
In a perpetual game of Chinese whispers
By: Lulwama Kuto Mulalu
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
I.
My pillow smells like another deity.
In the morning, I breathe out
from only one form,
daylight to dictate who is allowed to wake,
from within me.
And during that time,
I am one deity;
I am one deity;
I am one deity.
But when night falls
and lullabies are accepted into a place
with four walls and barely a door,
I am seeded into a different
plane of reality.
Hitting my pillow,
falling into its soft embrace,
its plastic scent is dizzying-
because it is not mine.
This way,
vertigo can easily write itself over
my heightened senses.
II.
In this realm,
I exist not as myself,
or just one deity that
wishes to be
skinny-dipping into daylight
without anxiety.
Instead,
I am everything I ever wanted to be-
either something that is
close to this "true persona" i speak of
or something of a far away fantasy.
In this realm,
this void that is a blockage
from a world of judgemental skin,
I have one hand-
the key to the judgements
of the ministrations of the night.
III.
You see,
in this realm,
there are two things your hands can do
in a rather lengthy moment of warm privacy.
You can either use both yellow hands
(frigid, lacking of blood circulation),
to embrace
(without loving, without care)
to snake around your neck or
you can snake one hand
between two pillars that,
in daylight,
bring them from one place
to another.
IV.
While,
far far away,
in a wonderland,
you (or perhaps me?) wish
to be a part of one day-
a boy you've seen in short,
sizzling hallways to arousal
and moments of desire
ー He sings.
V.
He sings for you in unknown pity,
in the fact that he barely knows you,
in the fact that you,
despite never being able to touch
such majestic and soft paleness
of another-
to touch what can be touched,
yet you yourself cannot-
He sings for you until your fingers move slowly
far, far away from hell
yet closer and closer to a little
bit of death.
That is how it is;
your pillow that smells of another deity
that isn't in accordance to the "you"
painted by social sunlight-
That is how it is;
a duplication of you that is somewhat you
and the small waist you felt
your fingers touch-
afraid you'd break their
small innocent body
is gone.
It's morning now,
and fantasies are better
when kissed by blankets
and shown with purple skin
and a clock
that depicts midnight.
VI.
Before you do,
morning comes first
and it is time-
to burn yet another
undecipherable duplication
of yourself-
or whatever left of who you
used to be.
- eozyoh. 14.12.2017. 16:37.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 11:04 AM UTC
Pure snow,
which I have awaited all through winter
had resigned itself to mildness.
when the consistency of masked face
endue the only smile
with engraving in persistence
In undecipherable season,
and for the misunderstood person;
still,
I nurse my wistfulness
of being the last drop of innocence;
if there is an hourglass
holds your adolescence
The enshrinement
in the Trevi Fountain of my heart
is the ripple that you dimpled,
like the growing annual ring,
and also the invariable finger print.
写在早春
我等了一冬的雪
让位于温暖；
是一贯的面无表情
让一笑成为烙印
读不透的季节
读不透的人
我愿做你年华沙漏中
最后一颗天真
我的许愿池
还珍藏着你种下的涟漪
像增长的年轮
像永恒的指纹
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
"Darling, darling, doesn't have a problem
Lying to herself 'cause her liquor's top shelf
It's alarming honestly how charming she can be"-Lana Del Rey [Carmen]
Her hand on the Jack Daniels to escape the memories.
Undecipherable is her emotions
She looks you in the eyes, showing that she's not afraid
Not afraid, of the thoughts that haunt
the life she has to live
the expectations she has to fulfill
the beauty she has to uphold
but her melanin's juxtapose
They talk and talk
Her slurs on a thousand
She's charming and cute
you're in for a hoot
the Jack Daniels takes her into an abyss and brings her back like the touch of her spouse and ****** of their encounters: on the island, couch, in the bedroom.
Fading .. Relapsing in time. —Bejoux Soleil
#BSoleil
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
She lays out her heart
On her sleeve
Both sleeves
As the red
Carpet is rolled
Out for royalty
Whether for
Honor or dishonor
But always
For ceremony
It beats in polyrhythms
Under and on her
Many layered epidermis
Whose layers
Perhaps only a mystical
Archeologist could
Analyze
The complexity of an
Ancient undecipherable book
Created by years of damaging
Neural and spiritual
Pathways by absorbing
The essence of her
Personal peace pipe
Which is bereft of the
Essential factors found
In thousands of years of
Dream religion
She fancies herself
A new breed of
Shaman perhaps
A connection broken
At an unknown time
In her spirit
But felt strongly
And deeply as
Phantom pain
Evident in her
Crystal ball
And stargazing
A remnant of
A long lost tribe
A tapestry of
Religions
Trivialized
Pop cultural
Spirituality
And superstition
Her motives
Misplaced and obscure
But definitely from
A healing source
But the channels are
Eroded and indefinable
Bastardized by
Extraneous channels
And alien sources
A trickle of water
In a dry river bed
All muddled into
This enigma and
Multicolored tapestry
Which is often
Misunderstood
And underestimated
Protected by the
Thick epidermis
And hard to follow
Cardiac polyrhythms
Revealed when her
Many layered tongue
Lashes out and cuts deep
Not intending to control
And manipulate
With leadership
Origins perhaps in the
Shaman or tribal leader
But definitely
Out of place and time
Since their true essence
Has been lost through
Her Westernized
Industrialized
And hyper-capitalized mind
And scattered to the four winds.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 10:04 PM UTC
oh, are you scared to be a little
pumpernickel buttocks readied to be baked?
mm, mm hmm, i bet you
are... i bet you have gingerbread legs
readied for a sprint, that will only
add the necessary crunch: like blueberry
jam in a muffin, toothpick blues
of disuse when the fingers are licked.
huh?! when was baking synonymous with horror?
should i send for the psychiatric paramedics?
you're talking spaghetti helter skelter!
will that be a salad entrée too? i know you're
sensitive, ask your daddy's daddy why he's
censoring right-wing politics and i'll just say this:
use the rhubarb and make the ******* crumble!
because we have psychiatric "specialists" running
around without censors, educated in something
else, resorting to feeding their self-esteem with
vague knowledge of psychology, and they're not
even considered mad... they're the mad ones...
they think all philosophical prose is a crossword
undecipherable jumble!
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 7:58 PM UTC
I long for you…however distant our meeting may be…
Can you feel my presence even now…embracing your existence?
I sing over you…undecipherable lyrics that speak clearly to your heart alone…
I rock you gently…within the valley of my ******* I embrace you…pull you into Me…the warmth of my breath falling onto your skin…
I devour you…exploring the hidden secrets of you…my mouth mapping your slopes, valleys…each crevice …my tongues delight…you are delectable to me…
A blind surveyor…my hands roam over you…fingertips lost in your wonder…
My heart is frozen by your beauty…taken back by your splendor…enraptured by your presence…I know you as if myself…searching the layers of your soul…your identity…as if my own...
I long for you…however distant our meeting may be…
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
Love takes no prisoners
save one
locked alone
uncharted waters
floating fortress
non-penetrable walls
inescapable island
scribbling on the floors
undecipherable language
coded in pain
signed in bloodstain
a story of loss
of great regret
never to be freed
a sentence of life
without the arms
of my lover
no lips
kisses
or eyes
seeping into mine
none of that now
... just time
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
Sometimes while sleeping
I greet the twin sisters.
Subtle faceless apparitions,
that love to giggle
while skipping the ropes to reality.
coalesced dreams, some call them
Without an end or beginning.
in a state of drunken stupor,
set by feasting on the flesh of stars
they drive me back to the black lake
where we once buried the moon
effigies of time, burn on the shores,
the lake soaking its ashes.
does the time ever weep?
for what it has lost,
even in the interconnected dreams
an undecipherable hymn now,
colludes with my stupor
as the faceless twin sisters smile.
I shall remember nothing
except for their holy unison
and the figments of thread
sewing their thumbs together
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 1:24 AM UTC
Chaotic winds
whir and wail all day
skewing clocks and towers
ponderous footsteps
of pumpkin
tainted night
twisted space
scattered light falls
like blades of rain
between the evergreen
a mutual transmission of
unusual potential horror happening
whirl of emptiness
a dead river
bone-eating road
murky sound shimmers
gradually from the strings of mirage
spatial queries galore
skeletal fingers pressing on pain and sores
chaotic winds herald
a slightly terrifying
muddied scene
contorted space
meager light pierces the dark
galloping horse flows into sight
dreams begin
festival and fantasy merge
clamor of dust disappears
silence after the explosion
a sole survivor
quiet gladiator
battle garb cloaked in endless skies
regalia of stars
tamed shadowy beasts of forest
strong sounds of symbols
breaths sink into deep sea
below the bed at midnight hide
a starry dream
swimming fish
drifting silence
translates wandering wraiths
into undecipherable scripts
on stones of grave.
Oct 31, 2021
Oct 31, 2021 at 10:34 AM UTC
The most fascinating desires and activities
are often times prohibited,
they demand us to love, to procreate and
then, detach us from this thought,
a need which we occult bellow a
tender, gruesome shade of indignity.
They demand us to work, and gladly we do it,
we are unsatisfied, yet no effort so far has succeeded
and not submitting to the voice is appropriate so long as
you remain unnoticed.
For then you'll be dragged into their cages of insolence,
Are not all but one single being?
How many degrees and efforts are required to rule over
another one's heart?
The heart is its own,
it knows better than anyone else
the solemn, perpetual voice,
amongst the others, escaping breathlessly,
uttering madness.
Yet, after the world has sunken into
a frigid state,
it is there - beating;
even if you try to silence it,
its presence prolongs.
No one is capable of ruling over a mind or heart,
or whatever terminology pleases you,
so long as it is that pure grasp of
eternity's profound breath under your caved chest,
that feeling, that very one,
the one that holds the truths and passings
of existence, yet it remains silent.
Though undecipherable, it is understood,
It is felt.
It does not follow the reproaches of
the mind, for rather,
it governs it,
and entices it in such way,
that it allows it to be free,
the latter speaks a language of its own.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
Balance.
Maintain normal. Pleasant average.
Covered safety restraints. Fearful preservation tactics. Guarded priorities planted.
Freedom, most dangerous vice. Boundaries calling out shots. Running from shadowy depths. Crippling fear of heights.
That safe existence passed away.
One cautious, radiant smile. This timid disposition's gatekeeper. Passing lines of macabre. A quiet hidden humour.
Captivating golden veil. Mysterious hazel eyes. Creative, calculated motions.
Slender hands. Undecipherable thoughts.
Beauty.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
Gliding across the sparkling night sky,
no scratch that, more like
I'm moving across like a leaf carried
by a silent zephyr.
Clasping hands with
a man, with an unknown face,
but a body of perfection,
capable of dancing the night away with me...
I closed my eyes and let everything
blow away.
Stepping with the grace of a
teardrop,
I waltzed,
foxtrotted,
swinged,
meringued,
rumbaed,
my way through the night,
as everyone around me
began to run
and scream, terrified,
as buildings began to collapse
and everything felt so surreal
and and the fires started
and and the walls came closer and closer
and I danced faster, faster yet
and a women came around to me, shaking me, yelling something undecipherable
and I began to cry
as I was finally able to crash.
I woke up with a start, a dreamy smile left on my
plumped lips, and ruined mascara and eyeliner,
and a dazed starry eyed look.
On the floor, the only evidence
were a pair of ripped up shoes.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
dust from the all the worlds,
a scarf knitted by a mistress from somewhere,
jar of wine that makes you forget the past,
thirst for the lands unseen,
this was all
what the nomad ever carried.
scriptures from all of the worlds
a letter written in some undecipherable language,
potion that makes you drown in dreams,
curiosity of meeting people never seen,
this was all
what the wise ever amassed.
they never traded stories
they traded in worlds.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 1:09 PM UTC
From my slice of ample darkness and space,
I look at you from all the stirrings of things,
dancing though you cannot dance,
leaving planetesimals all over the terrain.
I can sense out a locutionary from the heated body
beside me. Surliness so sure of its dagger in hiding,
slowly creeping up like cocoon of morning.
That was you in your off-shoulders.
Collarbones, caryatids, tilted atmosphere
summered, simmered into the air
until it died in a hollow jar.
And from your foreground, rusting is the wind
and it falls down on the lawn, like garlands
spread all Autumn by a sprightly, darling child
in a lithesome gingham dress.
My hands, past vertical, destroying limits,
feeling the weight of mercurial form begin
shifting into a disturbance in lotus stature,
fraying out of phase in limited access,
this height where springs of undecipherable fogs
lift the face of clocks, unwatched,
whose departure is this but only distance knows?
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 1:43 AM UTC
*kån skal syngje meg
i daudsvevna slynge... meg;
nor eg på Helvegen gor
og dei spøra eg trår er kalda, så kaldara -
and with approximate accenting
on vowels or stressed elongation,
angstrom - or o or u or neither with ø.*
O but the fickle mind!
Gemini readied for both
body and soul?
i hardly think so...
and each animal his own
character, each his own
albeit well encompassed
in fascist automaton replica
undecipherable for us
to practice, or if to wield
to yield all but failure in the finite
as then too almost cat replica cat
cloned... but then
such character assassinations to
tell them apart, not even invoking eugenics
is dismissive altogether to begin with.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
too much poetry decides on what's essential,
nothing, is, quite, necessary. although: existential:
too much borne from inexperience
and too much from anticipating it,
yet the fewest to mind the passing as it was,
anticipation reduced to vaccines on the ready,
so much ******* idealism that it makes me sick...
quiet likely... variation of the onomatopoeia yuck,
and there are plenty... da pacem domine...
or questioning Babylonian tactics:
hanging garden' madness remembering the pyramids
prior the Eiffel overcoming...
the tongue! the tongue! the tongue prior cranium!
knock knock... who's there? who's who? who knows?
no, who doesn't care.
i don't know why tilting on the Byzantine titling,
seemed appropriate, what are you?
the leftists who took apart communism
and want censorship to curb right-wing opinions?
Mary ******* Poppins from afar! Birmingham thus far
and so should Venice mind - no river... no flow.
the left are truly readying a box, two gloves,
tango of feet, a header in a football match is like an
uppercut, grey matter extending... well d'uh d'uh d'uh.
glossognomia - the alter to Heraclitus' tears or Logos
v. Gnome, the laughing one's, atomic Democritus -
both a cretin's fancy without a wife -
wisest speech of the *** without womb -
men and tombs, women and wombs... shame we were
born yesterday and certain scripts were deemed holy
and subsequently undecipherable, unquestioned,
requiring prayer, necessary Koran, poetic justices of
expression, Milton und Blake... well hello the idea
of photosynthesis! maybe an Aladdin pyramid or two
on the flying carpet! who the gold digger now?
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 7:39 PM UTC