"unequivocal" poems
Rage, relentless shackles tortuously restricting the beat of my sole drum
Wailing child, aged’s bell, muffled canine whimper beckon
Tempered resignation and guilt overwhelm anger, their bidding masters me
Unequivocal love, they want and need me, as I they
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
Stormy rain, stormy Eyes.
Look at me.
Wish you had of died.
A fairground trick, you never rang the hoop around.
The fairground ride, you could see the nuts and bolts.
But still you whooped with me.
There was a time,
at the beginning of the line,
where you begged me for a kiss,
for a moment of bliss,
before the fear set in;
before the terror unfolded,
and i was screaming and opening my eyes,
and looking forward,
and never at you.
I smiled for the camera,
to capture the moment,
of unequivocal bliss, of falling and riding high again.
Still you swore you would hold my hand,
for whatever we had planned,
and when i let go,
you looked at those lines,
and realised,
boy, you're in this world alone,
to ride the ride,
with me by your side,
but alone in your seat;
So what is it?
Ultimate bliss,
or,
terror of self-defeat?
Just remember,
I was there,
just a hairtip away,
just a fingertip, from your fray,
when you start to unravel,
from me.
As we swoop,
as we fold,
as we argue through your childhood behaviour,
untold.
Line up, line up.
The ride is free.
The journey is finali-ty
when you are riding,
with me.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC
My life pressed like those perfect folded sheets. Married in steam and good intentions of having life together.
Of course, that always starts with making your bed in the morning and filling the days with things you ought to do.
I'd spent my whole life trying to be this person....
I can't but help miss the stain on my coffee table and my linen sheets sprawled across my floor waiting for my return.
The chaos in my life felt like a harmony of bethovan's seventh symphony. A beautiful orchestrarted master piece I could only make the sense of.
I was an absolutist. Completely content with the messiness of it all. Entirely captivated by the beauty and desire with urge to succumb to it all.
The unequivocal grounding of not giving a **** at all if at least felt good.
I can't help but wonder if the person I'm unbecoming is the person I should be saving.
Jan 13, 2023
Jan 13, 2023 at 1:36 AM UTC
(rough translation)
debt
debt
debtor
tonight it howls
in tumbleweed tongues
beaten about and windblown
over a barren, over-there road
a dust-tongue stretches
licking skeletons
all the way to feet of the silver hills
that lie in the moon of the Little Karoo
debt
debt
debt in vein
Mother is a stranger
just standing there and sipping tea
in another woman’s blue kitchen
debt
debt
debt in her
all staring at the cracks
reflecting on the windowpane
the fragile earth’s
dismembered
but
the rain will come
my child
the rain will come
prophesy the rust-red clouds
all bellowing in the wind
Mother will stand
unequivocal
as untamed buffalo grass --
rooted and valid
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
underestimated, misunderstood, falsely accused...
so I glanced at a blank, it looked back
...I smiled, feeling confident,
it grilled me in disappointment....
then a mirror, liking what I'd thought I'd see,
it spat at me...
then within, this time without preconceptions,
I saw unequivocal greatness, glory, victory,
wings spreading, eyes glowing, countenance radiating
...I saw what none can, then realized it was a just a dream,
projected expection of the self amongst the selves,
greatness when I close my eyes to the world,
foul once awoken from the bliss of personal sanctuary,
I was my accuser, misunderstanding myself
overestimating reality by the measure of fantasy..
then, I looked around and saw in many,
that reality had completely replaced fantasy,
so how can they possibly see me?
why then, should I feel falsely accused?
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 1:58 AM UTC
Push Pull
Push Pull
Your behavior is unequivocal
Begging for change in the spiritual
But you are broke
Tied down by the literal
When your only inspiration is clitoral
Life is bound to be miserable
It's karma you have provoked
Stealing hearts is criminal
Your touch has become minimal
Your stratagem subliminal
Love is so cut-throat
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 1:35 AM UTC
To accept is to acknowledge the things and people
We cannot change.
With gentleness and detachment.
Not to simply tolerate our differences,
But to hold in my heart that you are who you are
And I love your entire being,
Unconditionally and without judgment.
To accept myself proves more difficult
For we can never truly detach from ourselves.
We all long to be accepted and part of something more.
To feel our hearts beat in sync with another
When we embrace: chest to chest for six seconds
To feel like we belong.
Because acceptance is also the belief in the inner goodness
Of someone
Which we can't always see inside ourselves.
So we constantly search for something that separates us,
Makes us different.
Not realizing we are in effect shunning ourselves
And preventing others from seeing us,
Sometimes intentionally.
But when we become mindful of our thoughts and actions,
Especially towards self,
And we treat ourselves as we treat others,
We can truly invite unequivocal love into our lives
And receive the acceptance
For which our spirit genuinely yearns.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
Historical-ly,
Black Colleges
Have been chronically
underfunded,
unacknowledged,
Hell -
Unappreciated.
Black culture curates
Common culture.
Black coins buy
Booming business -
Black universities
Breed
Brilliance, Undeniably.
Understand
Black children
Contain unrelenting
Capacity,
Cause upheaval -
Controlled, creative
Chaos;
Coerce
Change.
History
Continues.
Heads held high -
Commemorating heroes.
Celebrating
Hope-
Bravery-
Coexistence-
Unity-
Hope-
Bravery-
Coexistence-
Unity-
Healing-Balanced-Charismatic-Unequivocal-ly
Colorful
Blackness.
Dec 23, 2022
Dec 23, 2022 at 9:01 AM UTC
Each of you.
My individual singularities, Dad’s One Thing.
Conceived 1955.
Driven home, progeny, made man, unequivocal, indisputable.
Post-war night spirits undaunted ~ stop ******* me.
*** for you, stopped me.
Can’t make it the way you want. Please stop.
Backing off, I respect real you.
Don’t push me Me.
Don’t dream.
Will dream us.
Short sentence for guilt whisked way beyond what crime could be.
We combine beans and seeds and gourds.
That’s science! Culinary!
Botany, true, but I’m enaturated.
Human pod progressed.
If that’s a word, don’t dream it’s not.
Forget every word.
But make each and every word count.
Then add stash, socked away.
I concede.
Mi casa su casa.
Paint it.
Together.
Made mistake then fixed it.
Copasetic dovetails, my lady and me (not I).
We walk talk island jib.
I like the cut of your yar across the moonlit pool.
Go around with me to all haunts, snow globetrotting shaken not stirred
My déjà vu in futurum videre, I can’t believe.
Asunder goddesses should be together,
While Isis and Osiris boogie like Beatrice and Dante encircled,
Their own private imbroglio invaded
By Goth end time alchemists conjuring copyrights for gelt.
You tell me this short story.
I cringe.
My mind clouds men’s, and then conjures Morpheus.
My shadow child joins me in Paradise,
Deliria dancing in concert with Shakespearean intent.
My daughter’s got more guts in one pinky
Than all that fallen pilot on our island bargained for
In the games that decided who’s hungrier.
You could have been that gal.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 12:21 AM UTC
hardwood
and the smell of writing
writing
and the smell of hardwood
i could sleep here
under the disorganized desk
and wake up in
unequivocal happiness.
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 1:55 PM UTC
Tell me everything terrible you've ever done
and I
will love you
anyway
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
*In this world plagued in darkness
A humble Valkyrie of light emerges
Her voice echoes an unequivocal faith
She is the personification of embrace
A symbolic heart for all that is broken
A soul who keeps running her course
Where ever she leaps
Hope persistently follows
It is her grace and joy that won us all
But how she survived those battles
Is a truth only she could speak
As she generously weeps
Billions of stars from afar
Which all resemble her
Eloquent poems
In which they were born
To uplift each spirit and kept
To remain true*
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
you cannot wish love into existence (or how it came to be)
came and was asked,
make us a star.
smiled and whispered to the
mother night belly black and
and their star,
unequivocal was given
came and was asked, for a cooling fooling breeze.
smiled and whispered to the clouds,
rush past us faster and shed us thy ease
and so refreshed,
gave up hands high grace salutes
came and was asked, why be alone,
whisper for her
to love you
smiled and whispered
this I cannot
nor would I want to do
came and was asked,
why be alone,
whisper for you
to love her
smiled and whispered
this I cannot
nor would I want to do
whisper what you will
but love
is a wondering and a wonderment eternal
a perpetuity of never knowing,
perfect surety is not love
it is a why without an answer,
a question's question imperfection
why you love today,
maybe a continent different
why you used to, or first to,
and tomorrow's raison d'être
as yet undreamt, unrealized,
you can whisper many things into being,
but beings in love are motions special,
and entitled to a category special
admixture of reason and lust,
hunger and thirst,
needy to be needed
needy to be giving,
the balance whacked,
constant change its formulae
called vagaries, chemical imbalances,
e-motions
should I whisper,
call out for love,
making it so,
there would be no why,
without the why,
what worth this be
so when you do whisper
I love you,
admit it is a question
and an answer simultaneous,
it is a whisper of certain uncertainty
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
i still pray for you
my silent plea for blessed peace
to fill the crevice of your heart
i wrap with the attention of jesus
summoning lazarus.
he, of the same unequivocal faith
knows the depth of my invocation.
i wake up trembling at night
to the urgency of my dreams
and my hands reach out for your name
frantic like the parting of the sea
like losing the relevance
of the vows we made in better days
to something so forgettable, so trivial.
in the onslaught of madness
between dawn and the memory of your eyes
i return to the comfort of your hands
holding mine in the fleeting vision
of daniel and the lions.
i still pray for you
that you still have faith in eternity
in the serenity of Us
that it is still possible
if we believe.
i still pray for you.
i still believe in you.
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 2:09 PM UTC
We all thought the same
She cut the rope we were balancing on
But you wanna keep your slate clean
So she was just a bad dream to be forgotten
You lie to yourself to be loved
Threw us under the bus and took your crown
Created a false article that told a biased story
Then published it...
We’re the blood thirsty reptilians now!
The drama seeking horror queens
The tables have turned
The fable turned to be true
A lesson is to be learnt.
Don’t trust the mouth of an unmasked joker
It doesn’t matter how much they shed their unequivocal truths
There are still darker hidden layers of secrets...
Secrets locked in an overloading box ready to busticate
Stay away...
You’re the poison that can’t be reckoned with.
Just remember!
While the vultures scavenge for fictious answers
The eagles laugh and over rule moronic actions.
- Madeleine.Barnham
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 7:28 PM UTC
Cause love is long , love is strong
Cause love is strong , love is long
Come with me , we'll catch the ship of fools
and fly to the moon .
Give your heart to somebody then fly away
with their love in a special box for safekeeping .
Call it a heart deposit box .
If your heart's box has been broken we'll
change the locks .
Don't get left behind .
We're going moonberry picking in the
eclipse of dreams past , present , and the
unequivocal future .
Hurry !
Last one there is a pixie from France
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
It takes three days to pick up a habit.
How sound this is, I'm not sure,
because some habits seem as inconsequential
as a statement regarding time and vice.
It makes one wonder how long it takes
to believe a statement to be true.
Possibly as long as
a *** of coffee to be brewed.
Surely the amount of time will
vary by the weight of the statement.
But even a measurement is prone to
be thrown off by unforeseen additions.
Eight cups of water, and four scoops of grinds,
you're bound to have a little too much or
a little less than expected.
It becomes harder to tell
when dealing with a slow drip.
Brewing coffee may be completely divisible
when dealing with a recipe, but
hardly unequivocal when
the time comes to measure up.
This follows suit with patrons
and their proclivity.
Only in fiction is the coffee shop patron enigmatic.
Only in fiction can the patron enjoy a cigarette indoors.
Men and women wake and
head to their cubicles,
coffee in hand,
five days a week.
By the third day
a habit has formed,
and maybe that is why
acceptance is had midweek
and why the first day of the
nine-to-five seems so everlasting,
if not inscrutable.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
~
*Cotton duck canvas
on careful days
in a closed room,
intersecting tension,
energy and interest
for strangers to interpret
Three bashful belles
and lovers of art
undressed as a figure study,
cloistered together
in a line of beauty
for moral support
Their congregation assembled
in glorification of
angelic landscapes,
tempered by the mysteries
within convexity's arboretum
In unequivocal parts and gradation,
where good posture
and graceful presentation
count in equal measure,
to create Hogarth's
line continuous
--the Analysis of Beauty,
bended at the waist
to spread light through the canopy
During such exhibition
the belles whisper
under the rose,
of war and shopping lists,
they seem to avert eye contact,
gazes fixed to
the eternal sphere
ticking on the far wall,
never directly into the eyes
of those who come to
paint their *******
with sandalwood*
~
Apr 17, 2024
Apr 17, 2024 at 1:05 PM UTC
I am closed
My heart, barricaded
Molded together by unequivocal fear and total agony
It lies in bleak solitude
Pulsating with every emotion,
Yet left it it's cage, utterly dissatisfied
There are times when my heart can hear
It can hear the beckoning call of my suitor,
Begging this troubled heart to mend his pain
At times, it might understand the misery
Though, it is reminded readily,
That these walls are not meant for destruction
That these walls, shall instead last a lifetime
My heart cannot fix you,
My heart cannot fix this
It is unable to mend your wounds,
As mine have yet to heal
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 12:55 AM UTC
I am holding myself accountable
For now, but not always
There's times when I should have
been the first to say I'm sorry
Of course we all have those times.
We must all have those times.
To err, to caution, to be human
Questioning if you said or did
What was right, most kind
The best possible actions
Achieving the most perfect outcome
But I cannot hold myself hostage
To reckoning with perfection
Nor can anyone else reasonably
****** me upon such a pedestal
and expect me to preform
my best, most absolute
unconditional, unequivocal
gestures of good faith
If they have not made themselves
Stand tall in such high places
Responsibly bearing the weight
Of being incorruptible to errors
I allow myself to look within
And search for the answers
As to why there's always this desire
To be something more than
The accumulation of cells and dust
That surrounds my innermost self
It seems like finding answers
Will have to start with asking questions
As to why I am the way I am
Right here in the now.
If I can shape myself into anything,
more than or less than
what I already am right now
How can I ever truly be myself?
How to begin knowing myself
If it was never really clear as to
what my self was to begin with?
Where is the source of who I am?
What I am? How I am, and why?
What happens if I stripped away
All that I am and put the pieces
back together in a different way?
Would I become someone else,
or something else entirely?
I have always wondered
If wondering will be good enough
In search of the answers
In search of the miraculous
An inner earth within the earth
which I heard only
existed in pages of a book
Written in the sand
A very long time ago
If you looked into yourself
and saw a mirror reflecting
the parts of other people
you either hated or loved,
Could you continue to look
at yourself when others called on you
and honestly say to them,
"Look, I am what I've become"?
Oct 20, 2022
Oct 20, 2022 at 3:49 AM UTC
Baptized in the framework,
emboldened dregs,
stolen legs,
having the will enabled,
will stoke flares.
Hope there's enough left,
to capitalize and trademark,
Mark.
These machination metaphorics may get way dark.
Witness the churn,
turn barrel, pour fuel.
Envision thrift in the burn.
Unequivocal innocents in the thick of it learn,
gun metal, flower petal.
Power is sick of our tone.
They play their tricks on our young,
to build a system above.
We killed the sadness
fit to galvanize
a truthful spirit,
loose beneath the masses.
lifted powder keg,
rug and broom,
others soon to be suiting fashion
Buried in a priory cast.
Wire he tapped,
isn't the first,
was a fiery blast.
I heard the ground stir, out turned choirs of wrath.
Give baron bread, give miner shaft,
and all the pigs just laughed.
All the swine surrounded, founded "Freedom".
Heavy quotes aligned to,
"leave em lying".
We declined to deify, redefine our civil vision .
Twisted lips and sirens, rent,
systems turn, climate,
worth, time to learn to hear and listen,
kids, earth, diet.
'On the list I promise'.
Truth can't hurt if you stay quiet.
Truth in earnest moves the strongest.
Our seeds to earth are truth in kindness.
Grow.
Aug 17, 2019
Aug 17, 2019 at 4:34 PM UTC
To be totally honest I forgot this website existed, until for some reason I started cleaning out my old email, last checked circa 2015.
Along the way, I forgot about these words that used to fill my head. I grew up, apparently. I was so caught up in being everything, I forgot that I'm me. No amount of resumes or friends or post on Instagram determines who I am, only I do. I forgot that I steer my fate.
I completely forgot about the unruly delight of letting words dissipate from my mind into thin air, and trapping them in my laptop screen. There's some unequivocal satisfaction in being able to take a foggy thought, and make it clear by wrapping it in pretty adjective and metaphors. For some reason, my shoulders relax in a way that's different, even special.
I never did this for you, this was always for me.. I forgot that I do this for me.
I forgot what it was like to pick words like the petals of a flower, delicately, because being delicate creatures makes our feelings just as frail and vulnerable.
I forgot to pick words delicately.
I realize now that my words are like bubbles, floating with ease through the air eventually making their point with a subtle 'pop'. My words have been more like lumps of hail, uncontrollably destructive to everything in their way. I forgot what it was like to choke up on emotions that I didn't know I had, that only this simple thing can reveal.
Most importantly, I forgot who I was. This young girl, lost and confused and trying her best to know herself. To be honest I still don't know myself. Sometimes I get mad at myself for that but then I remember, that this, this simple thing, saved me from consuming myself for years. Maybe it still can.
I realize now, that my undying anger can be tamed. That no, I am not some evil beast cursed to live in angsty distress. I am human, I will always struggle to live with my imperfections. I no longer need to try and teeter between the balance of good and evil inside me, because I'm human. I teeter regardless.
I had forgotten the eternal weight of words, how they create and destroy the world around me. That words are everything when you feel like you have nothing. That words can save lives, can save my life. That there can never be enough no matter how hard I try. That's not my fault. I realize now that life is not determined by my words but rather that my words should seek to give life, to enhance.
I forgot that there's no need to hate myself for being human, that if this life needs anything it's more love. I forgot that it's okay to slow down, to speak softly and to question everything. I forgot this for so long, but I think I'm starting to remember.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 10:07 PM UTC
I’m an unemotional mess. Just call me a paradox
I am surrounded by seas of nothingness
Comforted by the lack of a beating heart.
I am chaos; I am a calamity.
Just a mass of unsure existence
Engulfed by a cloud of grey.
There is no black and white for me,
Just a horizon of unequivocal bleakness.
The emotions within me stir nothing,
Unlike those that surround me.
It seems their hearts beat in unison
While mine remains silent.
My heart feels like oblivion.
I hear its silence over the snare of beating hearts.
What will happen when they become louder than my own?
I’m a mess. An utter disaster.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 1:03 PM UTC