"undertaking" poems
Enamored of the possible, and racing,
Through a winding maze of endless choices,
Daunted by the obstacles we're facing, and
Dizzied by the clamor's many voices,
Shackled by a heavy chain of causes,
Binding us to all we've ever known,
The many paths before us give us pause, as
We struggle to define which are our own,
Within a world that's not of our own making
We anxiously await the day we'll find,
A journey worthy of our undertaking, so
That purpose in our lives may be defined, but
Perhaps our fate condemns us all to wander, and
Our lives are merely mysteries to ponder
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC
Is burrowing a web
weaving a collection,
accumulating an anthology
For a far gone day
Stash them away
set them aside with a
what, when, why
rather than right
now ambitious zeal
discoverable.
findability.
Its the nature of the undertaking.
My minds an unavoidable reciprocal
Gratified by wasting time,
It’s just there filling space
Tucked away for a rainy day
In every nook and cranny
Tickling the fancy.
Affording a kind of intellectual gusto
that's borderline deplorable
accumulatively downright trifling.
Nonetheless,
even if it's unnecessary
I'll never get my fill
paper to hand typing away
uncovering all of life's mysteries
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 10:09 AM UTC
1070
To undertake is to achieve
Be Undertaking blent
With fortitude of obstacle
And toward encouragement
That fine Suspicion, Natures must
Permitted to revere
Departed Standards and the few
Criterion Sources here
3.5k
Come twist my weave with your spinning wheel
Bend my twine into your making
Hold closely to your heart, that which you feel
When you take on
This undertaking
Spin my beautiful colors into a yarn of your choice
With your lovely spindle
I watch you spinning round, listening to your voice
As I become
Elegantly detailed
Remember, as you twist my weave, to always
Keep one hand free
One to hold your distaff far away
The other, to spin your love
Into me
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 5:18 AM UTC
Miami melts in its own heat.
It is, as Robert Frost writes,
"Riding on its own melting."
The grubby politicians
no one votes for
package the
melted, gelatinous
reality-space in
salami tubes.
(America, this is where your
“mystery meat” originates.)
And like Frost’s poetry,
this palm tree city
is a modern achievement,
gross in the undertaking.
It is a lead coffin, kept afloat
on the Atlantic Coast by
feat of the imagination alone.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
Osiris is not a viable option,
The rays of him are toxic,
One must err on the side of caution,
One mustn't take in the toxins.
Not with a serpents gaze of night ,
I am the gleam in their very eyes,
The twilight of people's lives,
The shine dwindling with time.
Street lights conjoin with the void,
As loss and gain meet with choice,
The old teach young about voice,
Lack thereof and unspoken poise.
Lines have gathered across the head,
Along with emotions, swirling regrets,
Primal fear creeps up ones neck,
The remainder of memories to forget.
I haven't slept for I have wept
I
Am
No
King
I haven't sang for I have pain
I
Am
No
King
I haven't laughed for I am ******
Keep
On
Looking
I haven't smiled for I am vile
You
Won't
Find
Me
For she dwells within me
A potion within a vial
Searching for answers,
Answers that have long since forgotten the questions,
As words have forgotten poems,
Poems that have forgotten books,
Books that have forgotten shelves,
And you, who has forgotten me,
Although you live here, my Isis.
You do not have the mind,
To know that I dream of you,
With me, as one in the same,
Glimmers of hope which make way,
For back breaking pain, and disdain
As you say, my name, I sob, I pray,
You encounter the soul provider,
Whom you alone, deserve.
Deciphering the hieroglyphics,
The depth of my chambers,
Such an undertaking,
Is only for those not wary,
Of rude awakenings and laws,
Forsaking the freedom of my bonds,
Which hold my place, along the gate,
Which controls my fate.
Bonds of loathing and taunting
Specters of faceless smiles
Messages of nameless moans
Titles and spiteful rivals,
Bring cries of despair and tears,
Which shatter the floor beneath,
Uncovering layers of disgust,
Skin deep, is the source of vanity.
Vanity meaning fleeting importance,
For it, death, life, joy, fear, hope,
And melancholy; know nothing,
As they are simply the effects,
But not the causes of the ruckus,
The frozen coating of ocean surface,
Ignorant to the swelling below,
Waiting for a chance to bring Diablo.
I
Am
No
King
You
Won't
Find
Me
Strip
Me
Of
My
Crown
And
Bury
Me
My
Queen
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC
sleeping and never truly knowing
if tomorrow you will be around
alive that is this side of the grave
is living on the edge supreme
what a journey to be undertaking
and no pun intended,
onward bravely
when you know no-one gets out of here alive
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 11:41 AM UTC
you are a butterfly among the moths,
a honeybee amidst the wasps,
ms. unattainable.
you are a living,
breathing
undertaking.
so why try at all
if the envied one
has already
set his sights
on you?
Nov 20, 2010
Nov 20, 2010 at 4:40 PM UTC
There once was who a Man who fell into a Cave,
and although it was dark, he tried to be brave.
With no light which to guide him, and fear right beside him,
he tried to get out but his hopes were in vain.
Further into darkness this man would then wonder;
no knowledge that all of his efforts would plunder.
As the passage grew tighter, he wished to retire,
but brought forth all the courage his heart could then muster.
A roaring of rapids he heard up ahead;
still fighting the fight yet succumbing to dread.
Then the tunnel grew wider, his worry seemed lighter,
as he dreamed that he'd one day return to his bed.
As he climbed from the end of this funneling hole,
and stepped further in darkness he fell to below.
What felt like forever, was the length of a feather,
now this man had to wade in a water so cold.
He swam although blind, first left and then right,
then down and back up he tried with his might.
He felt trapped in a world, with no diamonds, nor pearls
till he scoured the wall and found a pinhole of light.
This man of great strength then took one last dive,
and low-and-behold a new passage did find.
He followed it through, away from this pool,
and came up in another yet barely alive.
He was freezing, and shaking, his head it was aching
from fright and unknown during this undertaking.
Yet this brand new room, was filled with a jewel;
a jewel of which this man had no mistaking.
It was filled with light of the same glorious day,
a hole in this cavern overhead did lay.
He tried climbing the wall, only down did he fall,
but this did not stop him or keep him at bay.
He tried once again to still make it out;
climbing and jumping, and thrusting, about.
Till he reached the top, but still did not stop,
until he lay on the grass, no longer with doubt.
The warmth of the sun encircled his body.
His soul intact, yet his head was still foggy.
Exhausted, befuddled, arrested, and muddled;
he began to walk back yet fell into a copy.
Of the same devilish cave he had once been,
and it was up to him, only him, to climb back out again.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
I remember them
they were nestled
like spoons
warm in their web
like one soft cocoon
their lust was my terror
as I clung to my beer
and laughed at them saying
you alive under there?
windy blue days
a blanket and trees
a cliff by the ocean
we walked by in degrees
looking and thinking
we've disturbed their **********
a moment of bliss
that they're undertaking
but their bodies were statues
cuz they were aware
of young cannibals lurking
you alive under there?
©1988 Lyn
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
A man and his brother set on a task
An undertaking attempted many times by others
To no avail nothing and no one could succeed
But their vision was to them possible
It seemed that this feat was not meant to be
The world told them to quit
If God wanted it to be he would have giving you the tools
Yet they were undeterred in this goal
They toiled and worked
They slaved and sweated
Failed many times in their task
But together they crawled toward their aim
One day they finally did it
They climbed aboard their creation
And started a new era in the modern world
Finally these brothers did the impossible
Their names were Wilbur and orville wright
Stubbornness is perhaps the greatest gift God has given man
Those who have it are mocked and berated by their clan
Undeterred they continue toward their mission
Never swayed by words blinded by their ambition
When the dust settles everyone sees
The answer to success is this disease
More things have been done
By unrelenting men seeking the long run
Stubbornness may in fact be wrong
Alas anyone can see this burden is carried only by the strong
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 11:20 AM UTC
Read between the lines
running theme
running in and out
and inbetween
moments in my life.
Taunting me is Miss Mystery
and her sweet moments of ecstacy
carry me
to questions of implied imagery.
The space between each line I
write and read;
each line I wait on, drive on;
each line I listen between;
each line spoken to and from me-
Endless misunderstanding
undertaking me.
Undertaken me!
We never say
We never sing
what we really mean.
We never reach a destination
on these lines driven between.
The answer is hiding
for her benefit.
The answer has
Nothing to do with you
Nothing to do with me
Us, barbaric human beings
being arrogant with the lines
we speak.
Arrogance thriving between lines
paved with housing establishments
while the space between mountain ranges
sits vibrant,
patient.
All made of sunshine
All made of peace of mind
All made between the
thin line of atmosphere.
I actively disrupt her.
Mindlessly disregarding the
space between lines.
I act so possessively towards this
life of mine.
Yet, observant
I try to be.
Silent
I try to be.
And I try
to read between the lines
my mind project before my eyes.
My eyes: with lines protruding from all sides,
when I'm the least bit pleased.
Oh, least bit of knowledge I've gained
from these meditative rants that my
subconscious recalls only when there are
no designated lines to write between.
Lack of lines let's my subconscious free.
Selfish as each human being;
each human being free
I wait
more or less
patiently,
for someone to
read between my worn eye-lines
correctly.
Englightenment
I wait to
want me
or,
wait to
watch me.
I wait for the nameless to see me.
Desire's undertaking me,
Undertaken me!
I never say,
I never sing,
what I really mean.
Desire turned nameless me needy.
Me, the
Nameless human being
Nameless between
lines of Nameless Humans
being free,
being greedy.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
The month of perfection has come for the sons and daughters of zion to possess their possession,
with the understanding that September is a month like no other month to remember in the history of histories for those who believe in the word of the lord.
The month of fulfilment has come for the children and people of God to possess and inherit the land whereon their feet have trodden upon,
with the knowledge that September is a month like no other month to remember in the season of seasons for God's promises to be fulfilled in the lives of those that wait upon him.
The month of harvest has come for the righteous and faithful people of God to reap and enjoy the fruit of their labour,
with the awareness that September is a month like no other month to remember in the memory of memories for those who believe that the land is bountifully ripe for harvest and truely plentious for conquest.
The month of liberation has come for the captives in captivity to become captains of the captors in the land of captivity,
knowing that the Captain of captians have ascended on high and led captivity captive.
The month of visitation has come for the windows and doors of heaven to open unto them that are expectant of Divine favour, blessings and visitation,
knowing that the presence and power of God is presently present to present to those who are presently present, presents that are presents from above.
The month of dominion has come for the diligent and dedicated David's and Deborah's of this generation to dominate and have dominion over the nobles among the people and forces of the earth,
knowing that God have given us power and authority over the earth to dominate and have dominion over the high and the mighty.
The month of establishment has come for the prudent and pure ones in heart to see God undertaking and establishing his promises in their lives,
with the understanding that God is not unfaithful to forget all our labour and works of righteousness and service to his kingdom.
The month of manifestation has come for the sons and daughters of zion to be Divinely empowered for the manifestation of God's glory on earth,
with the knowledge that the earth and all that dwell in it is the lord's and the fullness thereof.
The month of remembrance has come for the book of remembrance to be opened for the obedient and commited ones to be celebrated by heaven,
with the awareness that God have separated the month of September to remember those that serve and call upon him with a pure heart.
This is September to Remember.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
Redolent May sings,
lays of perplexing antique,
wooden rose flounders.
...
Fungi is in rout,
war of mushrooms is halted,
desolate treescape.
...
This is not a game,
the colours rest in spindles,
the flag is in truce.
...
Paragon of ice,
tractive glacier, no friction,
chronotropic death.
...
Scourged almighty sea,
symphonic ocean blasted,
tranced undertaking.
...
Mort, syphoned blood grass,
waving like entrails, flooded,
blood spins, grave now swims.
...
Gritty stagnant bole,
refurbished hybernation,
the scent come to play.
...
Reminiscent moon,
gather ye, encompassed light,
that we may know life
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 2:56 AM UTC
What an intriguing opportunity a trip to Rose Cottage,
Sure sounds magical to me,
It's not a woodland haven or a diminutive house by the shore,
Came out from anaesthetist's trip,
I drifted, in and out,
A crazy dream it seemed,
Woke in rose pink room,
Thought I hadn't made it through,
For in the land of work,
A flip side of such a romantic image seen,
Rose Cottage, delightful though it sounds is life's penultimate stop called mortuary,
Before undertaking on one final trip,
Final destination, last stop guaranteed!
I wrote this as I left work after work and heard a porter discussing coming to take a patient to 'Rose Cottage'......It made me think....Hence writing this....and the anaesthetic bit is true...Freaked me out at the time!! Livvi **
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
Envisioning a road I'm not meant to walk along.
Acting as a misdemeaning pawn.
Trying to tread a path,
without undertaking wrath.
From ghostly figures,
who are quick to trigger,
emotions long left in the past.
Simply because they couldn't last.
Wouldn't take my own advice.
The reason...that's my vice.
Treading in the footsteps of giants,
leaves you less than defiant.
Wasn't able to define,
that effervescent line.
So now I'm left to pine,
stutter then whine.
There's no resolution here to discover,
because no ones quite that cleaver.
Maybe it's more about nothing,
or perhaps a smudge of something.
Sorry, I don't really know,
ask my friend on blow.
The answers could be more efficient,
in the form of a breakthrough rant.
Really I'm done now,
it's all I can allow.
This has gone on far too long.
Destroyed a simple 4 bar song.
So with all good adieu,
I say bye to you.
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 5:03 AM UTC
Sparkly hazel eyes
Mirroring the sun’s radiant reflection
Have a stardust countenance that belies
The intricate seamless indignation
Concealed by the piercing glint.
Portals of the mortal soul
They are, a squint
An unnecessary undertaking as it’s ephemeral
When they speak stories untold.
Tears shy away
They’ve a mind of their own and know when to horses hold
This in spite of the mind and heart being in disarray.
My speech superfluous
As eyes hint at being imperious
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 6:36 AM UTC
Like Dido for her warrior – I lose sleep
Feeling as though some plot or undertaking is slipping by me
Like Socrates and his dreams – I stand on solid beliefs
But I do not want to surrender – necessarily
Traveling here I was unsure
From another place
I am – you know that
I feel unfamiliar sometimes. I feel awake.
Often, my voice matches my thoughts
Often – it does not.
Spill me! Like a dark, red wine
Over your grey rug
Dull and dreary
It needs some brightening up!
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 8:29 PM UTC
I wonder if I even give a **** about myself
If I love my health or love the idea of loving them more
Whether the bottles are red capped or full of liquor that's brown
I feel so much warmer on the inside when it's around
I wonder if the heredity is getting the best of me
Because you see since I began it seems my father has resumed
You think the possibility of being alike is adorable
But in my case it's deplorable
To my wellbeing it isn't affordable
But I can't make that budget cut to my psyche
I'd rather buy a bottle of Bourbon than some new Nikes
Is it likely that maybe insecurities fall into obscurity when I'm being loved by all of my impurities?
That I'm hating on the **** that I'm making because my sober mind is murdering all of my thoughts?
I'm undertaking
Putting pressure upon my person to see no one's gonna feel pity when you're in the streets
Find a way
Find the time
Dance around
Write a rhyme
Do whatever you can to **** some time and distract your brain from saying liquor will keep you in your prime
-zaba
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Beautiful, gentle, feminine grace
Her essence redolent of future nostalgic days
Supplement for the eyes
Taste of sweet hope
drive away consternation
Fragile, lithe confidence
Feline cockiness
unblemished control
So bold and self-assured
Insecurities tucked so deep
She walks with the air of
superior knowledge
And she has it
She knows things we wished
Intelligent in all her undertaking
As simple as they are.
likeness to the purest
Shes a magnificent creature
There is strength in her confidence.
Then there are the others
similar species
The ones who lack
Beastly
Trod like a giant
Callous to the touch
Gauche by comparisson
Constant yearning To be so sure of themselves
Constantly seeking others approval
Watching her
Studying her.
Long hours of staring And inhaling her
Pretending to be her.
Failing
Its innate
But only in women like her
"We are not all meant to be the same"
They are fed
"It would be boring"
She's manufactured by society
To endure society
Survival of the fittest
She will survive.
Don't we all deserve to survive?
Some say its science down to the atom
Invariably convinced that they are not members
of the "protected" feminine gender
But definitely not welcomed to the esteemed masculine gender.
Born in the right body
Trapped in the wrong mind.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 11:37 AM UTC
Let us not argue anymore
About who'll walk to the corner store
We've had this row many times before
It's your undertaking to do the chore.
If you wish to eat fish pie for tea
You'll get your feet going in a hurry!
Stalling and prevaricating won't wash with me
Hop to it you dawdling fuddy duddy.
I'm ****** fed up with all these rows
Are you women always such cows?
Always on the who's and how's
You make me feel like a little girl's blouse.
It's a woman's job to do the shopping
Again you've got me really hopping!
We really should be out there bopping
Although my dancing is really shocking.
We've not been out on the town for years
This corner store walker is now filled with jeers
It may be my job to get the groceries at Sears
But our dancing and romancing have been in arrears...
I'm pretty sure you'll have the last word
But here my argument must be heard
You always treat me like a ****
And claim I'm as mad as George the third.
Darling I've treated you as a sow
Why don't we bring an end to our row
Let us hug a little and make up now
We'll enjoy an intimate pow wow.
What's done is done is what they say
Okay, okay I'll earn my pay
I'm on my way!
(C) Paul Butters and Elizabeth Squires 25/04/2014
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
Character development
is truly an undertaking.
Perhaps an incomplete
person cannot develop
another, after all--even
one who is not real.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
And I really do mean men. And mostly white men.
I learned that at Columbia film school
In LA, at USC, all those male filmmakers were somewhat suspect
What they made, could not often be called "art" but even worse
they tended to extreme geekines
They wore ***** athletic shoes everywhere and spent long hours on sets
in t-shirts, wearing caps with the name of their film on them and not smelling particularly fresh
They were not particularly athletic in a city that sport "muscle beach."
But here, they were MEN. They could hold their own in any test of masculinity
as art is a serious undertaking, and requires great powers of the intellect
And here, where most life is spent indoors, the men dressed well,
in proper leather shoes that had names, and followed the fashion of the bohemian moment
which was not considered bad, maybe because you need clothes so much there
You are always freezing or sweltering and sweating. You freeze outside in winter
and you sweat when you come indoors. In the summer you boil outside in hot
and air conditioned New York, like you are in purgatory, and then freeze again in the air conditioning
To have that artistic authority, no woman can come close
It isn't a woman's world, at least in the early nineties in New York, it wasn't
Such a dissapointment for me since I thought I could somehow slip through by sheer cleverness
It's like a black person hoping to be identified as white. It can't be done.
There was a place for me, like no matter where I hid in a cinematography class
in the front, middle or back I always became the woman who is photographed
to demonstrate lighting
"You learn the most up here" said Beta Badka, in a thick Ukrainian accent as he set me on a stool
But that's not where I wanted to be
I longed to be taken seriously, telling stories about women, about girls
and having them be respected with that same cache
that came with stories of men
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 8:10 PM UTC
Ihinabi ko sa bukana ng payong ang ulan.
This is to believe that sheltering may not always be, or simply perhaps an undertaking of weakness. A radical strangeness aspires to be bold. I may not be able to transcend its nakedness.
.
This is to deny the common verity that in the communal of water, shade fails a transliteration. We cannot be forever in hiding. Our smallness reveals our flowers. Our unmentioned stirrings. (A spire of technicolor through the lens of apertures. It starts to rain in Pasay.)
.
I see children swift-bodied in the streets. I hear the sublime song of a defunct tractor. Once in its vitality, Earth was its derelict. How did it come to be that when I peer into the openness, light slouches into form, conjuring an image: your face, hiding amongst the crowd?
.
This is to recognize the potential of dwindles. Its vertigo that it tries to protect. Its height that it tries to conquer. Its fall that it tries to eschew. What if bones are just homes to tiny little currents and that the way our body assumes the stance of jackknife, simply a foreboding?
.
Itinabi ko sa sukal ng araw ang payong.
This is to perceive that all light lifts away from the dark, my heart always falling into its hands. Morning opens your face like delicate streets, pulverizing fog into chamomile. Silence is endemic. *Makati *buoys overseer reconnaissance of obvious beatings. Revealing a long line of ligatures -- umbilicus of wires. Serenades of futility. Our useless meanderings.
.
The depth of Sunlight finally turns primeval stone. That is our defeat -- all our darkness put to trial. I am tense with the finality: she will become parasol and I, the weather past moonlight waxing.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
What thoughts most admirable to take the emotional avenue to create to see in your mind a one of a
Kind person get the soul right and then move to the exterior that which would be seen and interacted
With for a life time what an undertaking but what else could make such sparks and the tremendous
Emotional swell to go to this place stand before the quietest shimmering possibilities a personality like
No other accepting the fact there would be common traits that everyone has but this is special this is
Horrendous in the idea no tolerance for error can exist this new person with functionality of will and
Freedom to express it demands nothing less so lies social justice and order then the operation of
Communicating what extreme place of awe you have to stand at to attempt this feat the tone the
Measure it will exact in the human drama of life seemingly simple but genius throughout in form and
Substance a constant flow that was the sum total of exquisite harnessed displayed in ordinary you need
To think on these matters when negatives penetrate the operational defense they should die as you
Contemplate how marvelously and wonderfully you are made your being passes the greatest minds and
Achievements our language is beset and besieged for a temporary time so the best we offer is listen
Here buster but behind that there is an imprisoned intellect that is now subject to the winding and trifle
Terms of existence but in those confines what beauty what treasure is hinted at the suppressed holds
Such revered qualities if we could get this psychiatry would be reduced greatly what a storehouse you
Are every need in human existence is there every fixation has deep roots foundational bedrock you
Were mined in a divine realm your feet are weighted to earth but over riding this is spirit that can’t be
Held completely to the functions of the body what immortal springs call to you as you have a thirst for
Them nothing else will satisfy why else is there such unexplained anxiety the Psychiatrist can’t give this
Answer because they follow the same path that is ignorance that parades as intelligent comprehensive
Analysis which you can plainly judge as ineffective and man trying to answer spiritual complexity with
Limited understanding I guess it is hard to unravel the statement that we are all fearfully and
Wonderfully made this writing comes from me looking at your picture truth truly will set you free
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC