"undisciplined" poems
I am a humble painting
hung upon a common wall,
composed of grey tears;
striking, yellow laughter;
trampling fear; undisciplined love,
of other human beings.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
Don’t be fooled regarding one’s tongue,
for it has the power of life and death.
Before doubting these words of wisdom,
now pay attention and catch your breath…
before any more idle words touch the ground.
We are accountable for everything we say;
Therefore, remember to think before speaking,
since our reckonings will come on Judgment Day.
Consciously refrain from speaking evil curses,
knowing that God’s presence surrounds each soul.
Undisciplined tongues unwittingly spew their venom
and cause unseen damage with poisonous control.
A perverse tongue easily breaks the human spirit
and keeps evil, generational curses flowing.
Plentiful sins roll off the tongue in the forms of:
Gossiping, Tattle-telling, Slander, Lying and Boasting.
Instead, give praise concerning the good things of God;
speak life into situations, since healing can be attained.
the reliability of The Word can be assured, for…
its promises insure that ours lives can be sustained.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Prov 18:21; 1 Cor 4:20; Deu 32:47; 2 Pet 2:3; 1 Sam 3:19; Psa 12:6
Lev 19:16; Mark 4:14; Prov 15:4, 21:23; Jam 3:1-18; 2 Cor 5:10
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
Your touch gentle as a petal in the wind
Kisses soft as the morning sun rise
Slowly rising from the dust undisciplined
Bringing a comforting warmth to my thighs
Your smell familiar as a dream once dreamt
A sweet taste on lips kissing
Hands on my body gracefully you tempt
Long lasting moments of caressing
A love so kind, as a flowers tender touch
Leaves tumble outside tap tap tap as one
Tightly to you I clutch
Skin now hot like the risen sun
Burning the day in sweet harmony
Hips playing a perfect symphony
A scenic view of warmth and motion
A breeze swaying wild and free
Like a curling wave in the ocean
Holding on as an unripe fruit to a tree
A sunset slowly falling down
Releasing the day with a wink of light
Night settles on the ground
Your beauty is all I have in sight
Together we breathe in coexistence
Your touch more tender than anyone
Resting now with peace and silence
Calm night, for the day is done
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 7:00 PM UTC
The night is young
tis fair in the crickets silent song
alates that come after summer rain
rushing traffic splashing brown water
—my socks are soaked; wet toes,
and cold shiver's marathon in a running
nose
My head pounds like a child
beating a drum
Undisciplined, uncontrollable buzzing
like bees making a hive of my thoughts
choked words by the feelings above my throat
Clouded mind, to now be feeling grey
it's grave to me to dig up my past
Clearer skies, exposed skins, and parent
shoutings, about playing where ringworm
lie in grass
The scent is sour; heaven tears left
on the soil—bending a flower
the silence ends here, but it will
again rain another hour
Dec 20, 2022
Dec 20, 2022 at 11:59 AM UTC
(...)
It is perhaps this association between birth and beginning each school year which led me to respect knowledge. The entire month of August tends to fly by, unnoticed, in anticipation of the day I see children forced back into ill-ventilated buildings to emulsify themselves in education, for knowledge. Knowledge, that Moloch of an idea! Hobbies, interests and Summertime activities were heaped on flaming tongues with words in order to illustrate their ultimate insignificance. We hoped to bring out the blessing of wisdom from its mouth. “What matters is the coming Winter, not the frivolous activities of undisciplined youths.” It is as if the leaves of every tree were humanity's hair, and August had pulled back every strand to blow the woodsy breath of Autumn smoke into life’s ear. "You won't be this way forever." I am yet seduced by Fall’s cryptic murmurings and led to believe in endless, Halcyon flight. With arms draped around us from behind, knowledge draws me into oblivion, with unlabeled memories and I throw my desires into Moloch’s mouth. Now that I am burning, my self is the voice of this demigod. My birth certificate is my body, holding a memory to be inscribed on some later form beside some other numbers. Life has only so many Decembers.
(...)
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 3:52 AM UTC
Don’t be fooled regarding one’s tongue,
for it has the power of life and death.
Before doubting these words of wisdom,
now pay attention and catch your breath…
before any more idle words touch the ground.
We are accountable for everything we say;
Therefore, remember to think before speaking,
since our reckonings will come on Judgment Day.
Consciously refrain from speaking evil curses,
knowing that God’s presence surrounds each soul.
Undisciplined tongues unwittingly spew their venom
and cause unseen damage with poisonous control.
A perverse tongue easily breaks the human spirit
and keeps evil, generational curses flowing.
Plentiful sins roll off the tongue in the forms of:
Gossiping, Tattle-telling, Slander, Lying and Boasting.
Instead, give praise concerning the good things of God;
speak life into situations, since healing can be attained.
the reliability of The Word can be assured, for…
its promises insure that ours lives can be sustained.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Prov 18:21; 1 Cor 4:20; Deu 32:47; 2 Pet 2:3; 1 Sam 3:19; Psa 12:6
Lev 19:16; Mark 4:14; Prov 15:4, 21:23; Jam 3:1-18; 2 Cor 5:10
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
There's one e-mail I always delete and it's yours
and it's not the boring repetitive ones or the ones that have nothing at all
to do with me, I can let those stack up in my mail box
I have a collection, thousands of them
But you and yours, make me ill. How you brag and have
taken over what was my job last year and is now so clearly yours
and have you ever, ever even said a word to me, even though I was
the one to do the ***** work to get it all started? No, I am just
so last year to you. I don't exist. I see your bragging testimonials
to your greatness followed by pleading ones for money--teddy grams?
Really. And the one time I did see you, you were not nice.
So I delete your e-mail and really I'd like to delete the whole experience from
my mind. All those late hours in that cold theater with undisciplined kids
Always thinking, I am doing this to have a job for the future.
This is why. And then you just waltz in and you were so excited
I sent you my acknowledgement you were given the job and you were
so breathless oh can I tell everyone? Like you just won the lottery and
now I want to send you an e-mail to tell you, do not contact me about this again
Leave me completely alone if you can't be nice.
I don't like your play and I don't like you and this was all a bad experience in total.
I want to delete you, not just your mail. I want to delete you from my mind and my experience
and all the rest of the people involved in this whole sorry affair.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 9:02 PM UTC
I missed you today.
At the coffee shop.
On the bus.
In my chair at the office.
I wanted to say
Yes I’m feeling on top.
There’s a seat here for both of us.
Doing well, uh oh, here come the bosses.
I sat there all day.
I looked up every minute.
Stirred hands across the keyboard
I wanted to be in it,
Involved in this life and the people
And plans.
But all I do is keep tight lipped
With tremors for hands.
Spider webs for brains
And an undisciplined bladder.
And when I get up to go, it didn’t seem
To matter.
We say fake goodbyes
And look down at our shoes
As if clues to these blues would just
Jump out in twos.
But not even two, not even one.
There are no clues
It’s in front of our faces.
The glow of a screen
Humanity erases.
I missed you today, at all of those places.
Because every single stranger had buried
Their faces.
Not one smile or hello or greeting.
And this is now how people are meeting.
You don’t know I’m having a rough time.
I could speak up.
but I see your headphone lines.
Eyes fixed ears shut.
I just wanted someone
To acknowledge me a short while.
But we’re so disconnected,
I can’t even get a smile.
~kb
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
The old tree on Maple Lane stood unwavering on the cold December night
that the young girl ended her plight
it creaked sorrowfully
as the child that once swung from its ancient limb
was buried on that evening so grim.
The old tree on Maple Lane danced to the rhythm of the wind
that glided all about, completely undisciplined
it flowered wonderfully
as the joyous winter that brought it innocence
was replaced with a warm immanence
The old tree on Maple Lane
had seen so much beauty
and so much pain
The old tree on Maple Lane
was completely beautiful and wise
Until it was slain.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 11:03 PM UTC
My mind
down dusty corridors, i wander
everywhere lie the discarded thoughts
of a disorganized and undisciplined mind
still its called a thought...
reminiscent of a once busy museum
now deserted and seemingly long forgotten
Then turning a corner,i find myself
suddenly in the midst of a hive of
activity.
A new Curator has come with fresh ideas and input
now my thought has become serious thinking...
which I poured on a piece of blank paper
hmm... now read what an impressive thought
I think it is ...
written on a piece of white sheet
After some painful moments of writer's block..
from once a very disorganized mind..
Walla... a poem written by me at last
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
You see yourself as less,
apologizing for fancied flaws & imagined improprieties.
I see the kindness of your heart,
desiring good for all those around you.
You see yourself as dark,
full of negativity & sarcastic statements.
I see in unguarded moments
the softness of your soul,
and genuineness of your generous heart.
You see yourself as undisciplined,
as lacking routine & constancy.
I see the strength of conviction
that guides your heart,
the self-made statutes of kindness that control you .
You are ever willing to condemn yourself
by some artificial standard of attainment
given to you by others,
who may not know your quintessence...
but I know you.
I love the life I see within you &
love to be connected to the wit & wisdom
& wondrous effervescence that are You.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
Gold dances on a dark canvas old as time
the orbs sway from side to side
hypnotized as they trace the curve of an imaginary bowl
my heart beats out fond memories
that fill my mind with fervent desires.
The dark wraps its cool shawl around my neck,
With a brisk touch, it tumbles all my reveries into associations of a noose...
I cannot connect with the world as I see it anymore...
It is experienced as a strange reflection
of all that comes from within and before me.
To be lost in this cage of thought
is to ignore the perpetual inspiration
gifted by the miracle all around me.
It is to see all as a reminder of a thought... of a thought.
Every smell is a whisper remembered
Every touch echoes a pain ignored for too many moons.
The soul sits in the well of our minds.
We build the mind to fill our soul to the brim
so that we may feel it glisten and gleam in the warm sunlight.
We see the world through ripples of ecstasy
as our love spills over the mind.
It flows into the roots around us...
In that moment we are truly present.
The joyous pride of the mind is the gift to overflow its most precious burden out unto this world.
It is the disciplined mind which harnesses energy to overflow
while the undisciplined mind remains as poor foundation.
It will only drain what precious reserves it tries to hold on to.
left in darkness at the bottom of our minds, the soul sees only what small glimmers it can glean.
When every firefly in the dark is a reminder of a thought of a thought, we are lost in the confines of a well we cannot climb out of.
...
When every cool breeze passes without grasping,
we know the power of being present...
We feel love as we breathe it in
and peace as we let it go.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
Of Baseball, Poetry and the Human Condition
~~
From “The Art of Fielding.” by Chad Harbach
"You loved it,” he writes of the game (baseball), “because you considered it an art: an apparently pointless affair, undertaken by people with a special aptitude, which sidestepped attempts to paraphrase its value yet somehow seemed to communicate something true or even crucial about the Human Condition.
The Human Condition being, basically, that we’re alive and have access to beauty, can even erratically create it, but will someday be dead and will not."
~~
and thus, the circling noose grows ever small,
binding the obvious and unblinding the oblivious
more than the mere, poetry in baseball, for both forms of art,
knowledge intuited from watching the catcher's body weave
this way and that, a dancer en pointe, arms raised in worship,
addressing the heavens with a body's broad brush strokes,
all to catch with concentrated skill, a lazy, towering popup,
climaxing oft with an exclamation point -
a perilous desperation leap
into the dugout encampment of the inimical opposition
yeah, yeah, sure, sure,
you knew that,
tho daring to verbalize same,
before the age of thirty,
presumed maturity,
was not an act of the sane of heart,
or the sound of mind with body melded
what you dared not admit was that the conditional principle,
was primal and not tangential, though perhaps,
some itinerant fathers foolishly mumbled incoherently
of life's linkages and motifs parallel
of
that desperate beauty, the ferric magnetic irony,
that our full access pass to envisioning the finery,
imaging the stuff of our own daily creation genesis,
whether concocting undisciplined disassembled parts,
called words,
into a singular line, a stanza that froze your lungs from
the boredom of the regularity of heaving and breathing,
was in no way different
than the curvature of the boy's arm
in desperation outstretched, seeking spectacular safety for
a well hit ball of cork into a worn leather mitten and thus
confirming his humanity to the watching tribal membership
and these momentary moments of momentousness,
will live forever until we die, judged of equal stature,
a soldiers stripes, ribbons of his theaters of service,
medals of the honor and the errors of his own
truthful, youthful and crucial
human condition
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 4:57 PM UTC
I salute no flag, I follow no man
I am undisciplined; an expatriate; a mutineer.
I am not consumed. I believe in Infinity.
But so what?
It's a hell of a lot better than casting stones into the abyss of life, which only cries back in a tune of some ever-pervading samsara, whose only note was proof for Hamlets second conjecture; counting your days, numbering the stars, feeling pleasure only to one day die a purposeless death; guilty.
Jesus said everything in red ink,
the bible tells me so.
Freedom can only be given to those that are bound.
It is both a fact and failure of nature.
Our power binds us;
Our lack of power binds us.
We are enslaved on all sides:
By the infinite and the finite.
And yet we are set free
by this selfsame fact.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC
She perches
a bird on a
spindly winter branch
her pious breast
puffed up with
self
and
righteousness
she builds her nest of
pillows and
lap blankets -
afghans of granny
squares like a motley
jumble of feathers
the shredded remains of
a circus clown
rising from her army green
Crocs (R) to her
poly-chiffon hanky
a mantilla of lies to
her
self
and she nestles down on
her egg of wine and host and
judgment
weaving into the walls of her
nest her prayers for the
unfortunate for the
unbelieving for the
undisciplined for the
flaw of being
less holy and less wholly
the child of
Big G God
she knows she is
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 3:15 PM UTC
So down , down ,down he goes smooth and silent
down she goes lungs fresh and clean, no bottom in sight
just he and the night. The thinning light of day.
Down they go with ease. The challenge lies ahead
the music playing slow and sweet.
Minutes are like hours to the unknowing, undisciplined , unwilling.
Baptism lies in the slow pulsing of the heart and the knowing deep within that
pleasure and pain ebbs and dances as down, down, down where under the waves to deep blue nothingness and further still as far as will allows.
How long can you linger and keep your head as you strive to return to amniotic bliss, that
place that echoes with muted sound and muffled voices that held your focus.
not in this world but of it.
unborn aquanaut
So down you go to crushing penance
to blue and cold to the limit and to what end.
to return is unwritten because the ultimate gamble
now the die is cast
to will the last ounce of life from lungs now flat.
To rise to life or remain in stasis
or so it seems
depleted logic dictates that you may well stay
below, beneath the waves
choose life
arise.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
beautiful wordings
written piece of time
a moment, that we can never hold
i ask you in my heart
do you beat yourself up constantly
spoiling your mood
like an undisciplined child
i tell you—
do not be undeterred
for being young
Nov 7, 2022
Nov 7, 2022 at 9:51 AM UTC
So on the day I was born
I nearly died
(And wait for it because it's not a sad ending)
If you knew what my early life was like
You might not judge me about
My former, sometimes avid wish
That they hadn't been able to save me
And sure still sometimes when I feel
That it's just all too difficult to cope
Too hard to deal with
And I face my reality which from the outside looks not so bad at all
And I face my lack of skills judgment
And my grievous errors that haunt me
As many of us do
And then say well ok. So I'm a f*ck-up
(When and if we as people wake the f*ck up already!)
I do see it all playing out differently
No emotionally stunted uncherished
Girl with abandonment issues
(Mostly silent observer of many many things but alas, and painfully not the most obvious things, so frustrating!)
Wandering undisciplined unorthodox unnoticed kid
Who thought, uh, why am I even here?
But I'm very relieved to be able to say
I was wrong
Because everyone matters to
Someone
Still don't know why I didn't die then
Or in the dozen weird unintentional near misses since then
But I'm writing this to say
The difference is that now
I'm glad to be here
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 7:04 AM UTC
The cravings I have for you are undisciplined, thriving by the second.
Every word you speak, every breathe you take I need to inhale and hold my breathe, selfishly, trying to keep as much of you vibrating inside me. Your my personal overdose, my rehabilitation.
Every interaction we have echoes until time becomes misplaced. The contact of our skin, collision of our emotions, carnality of our voices blending in. I was lost and erratic, you were my salvation.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
I was youthful then,
My expectations and understanding of the world,
not in the slightest developed.
To me.
The immensity of a common situation,
Perhaps,
One you take for granted,
Put my mind, body and soul in peril.
Weird how time develops a mind.
Youth searching for answers,
Does.
One day find the keys to his doors.
For many of mine were locked,
but light doth shine fuller and brighter each time the key turns.
In those days,
It is most unfortunate the limited expanse of my mind;
For if I had been more developed,
the severity of such a situation would have been extinguished with care.
And diligence.
One can not conceptualize HELL,
Unless one has lived it.
Situations exist where evil lies,
We must do our best not to disturb his slumber.
He sources the weak.
The undisciplined.
Those who cherish raw emotion and think only of pain.
Such was my experience...
and try i have,
to forget the days where I burned inside;
my brains melting outside my head,
spinning,
falling,
crashing into the depths.
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 8:57 PM UTC
There between discontent and enchantment
Sits the self, seeking awe and amazement,
In response to perceived monotony
From the loss of its own autonomy.
There between morning’s hopeful open eyes
Sits the self, no different from last sunrise,
Welcoming heavy eyelids of midnight
To close one more day that seemed not quite right.
There between poems and the literal
Sits the self, with insight ephemeral,
Waging war with the real and imagined
Encounters with thoughts so undisciplined.
There between what is and what can become
Sits the self, embodied delirium,
Each unique but with no definition,
An unresolved eternal condition.
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 4:06 PM UTC
The whispers of the wicked plague the mother,
for her children tread ever so closely to the forbidden garden.
Warn them of the thorns, terra, they are young and know no better.
I ask, be kind.
It is with the gift of choice that enchant their eyes to the blooming rose.
It is with the gift of awareness that curses their undisciplined mind.
I implore, please; be kind.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
Lust, the price of you is my sanity
You inspire such dark desire within me
I am enveloped by your luminous fire
So undisciplined and destructive
Have my hands always had this tremor?
Lust, I am chasing a pleasure so sinful and unrefined
Delving into this painful bind
You hold me captivated, injecting me with the addictive need for release
I ache for sheets covered with the sweet scent of unadulterated passion
Lust, see what you have done to me?
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
Lying to control
lying to steal power
lying to hide your crime
lying to hide your inadequacies
lying to undermine and subjugate
lying to look good when bad thoroughly
lying to ruin relationships and destroy happiness
lying to ruin others' futures, their employment and careers
is
that
why
others resent you
why you no-longer hold respect
why other Faiths rise up and fight you
why you have the highest divorce rate in he world
why you have most numbers of depressives on chemicals
why you have the most single mothers in the western spheres
why your children are semi-educated, undisciplined, mannerless
why your youths are stabbing each other and have no respect for you
is
that
why
there are no trusts in politics
why even those with status still steal
why your morals are loose and shallow
why one in four of your males are pedophiles
why husbands break and end up killing their partners
why you have five year olds learning about homosexuality
why parents can't train children except those from other cultures
why most are superficial with no spines and crack at little pressure
why you make stinking stupid bullies who are only brave in gangs
is
this
why!
is
this
why!
is
this
why
you are never happy and need to pay comedians to make you laugh...Is this why you lie to take power, lie to control, lie to lie!!!
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 5:26 AM UTC