"unessential" poems
you're a vestigial appendage
like my appendix
you are there
but you don't do anything for me
you just are, there
i wouldn't die without you
you're not necessary, necessarily
i can't live without you
you're a part of me, partially
you're so significantly insignificant and essentially unessential
we are potentially going to have to end it
we have potential — "no" — lets end it
i'm so happy i never get to see you
i'm so unhappy you called
you're like a fantom vibrate
i can't believe you actually called
we're a vestigial appendage
like an internal hemorrhage
holding onto what's healthy and alive
dig it out like a cancer
bury it deep inside
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
let me tell you the story
of the girl who laced cigarettes
with the taste of coffee
the girl who stained tissue napkins with sappy phonetics
and the guy who knew nothing of the sort
she carved heartbreak on the surface of her wrists
and broke silence with unessential questions
she wore her wounds in a tight braid
and carried her worries on the pages of a paper-back book
she described her mind as retired
from all the wars she has won and lost
she exclaims sighs of relief
and stands by the neutrality of her hopeless idealism
on the other side of the universe, however
there exists
the personification of oblivion
he betrays his race with an unrecognized voice
and words misunderstood by his own kind
he returns to his world for temporary release
of what
he is still unsure of
and yet
he is certain of the presence of sadness
he masks his isolation with a facade of self-accompaniment
and satisfies his inner desires with empty seats
he covers up his chapters with bottles of prohibition
and mystifies the tables with ashes of past regret
he sings about tomorrow as if it holds a promise
a promise of better days to come
he has gone from mountain to mountain
in hopes of a brighter view of the sun
but amidst all his travels,
he is yet to be blinded by the brightest of flames
and so,
he appears to be void
of reason
of worth
of a sense of purpose
of plans of the future
and maybe this is where the story ends.
with both their hands shaking from an overdose
with momentary glances of unread excerpts of themselves
with the unspoken truths
and with held-back melodies of lyrics still unknown
with curses of similarities
and vows of their difference
with her,
believing she already knows too much
and with him,
thinking she is yet to know more
or maybe I was wrong.
because maybe,
just maybe,
this is where the story begins.
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 9:27 PM UTC
shut down the gubmint
it ain't workin no more
no end to tax and spend
libs gonna make us all po
shut down the gubmint
don't matter nun no how
unessential personnel
will enjoy a day off now
the gubmint don't funkshun
the gubmint is no good
the gubmint should go away
we'll manage our own hoods
everyone grab yer shotgun
fill the bathtub with water
firemen and cops on furlough
perps we'll give no quarter
the skools we can do widout
common cents is all we need
only teacher unions will be angry
publik skoolin just a liberal creed
won't mail the SS checks
financing lifestyles of idle poor
dis socializm needs stoppin
kick the commies out the door
national parks should be solded
only tree huggers will care
Koch Bros will snap em up
cut trees, strip mine, run job fairs
as long as the Army
keeps bombin the Tallyban
we be safe from Evil Doers
its all in God's good plan
so shut down the gubmint
its time to slash and burn
Teabaggers to the rescue
Obamanation gotta learn
You Tube Music Video:
PO PO Shut Us Down!
Led Zeppelin
When the Levee Breaks
Oakland
4/5/11
jbm
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC
Oh, this foul currency!
fevered up from the stewing *** of pride
for what I longed, betwix the empty spaces
the finish line now the gunshot
and what of the exchange rate?
how many angers is love worth?
when a passion-plays transfered to selfindulgence
there is some overlap, and a chopping block is needed
and the sharpness may pierce the skin and stain, your ingrain
when did that ever bother me anyway?
love for art or love of art?
it is a ****** that works the teller booth, with smooth words and clean rationalizations
minty
gross
a little too much of a bad thing that tastes good
can't get the taste outa my mouth...i think i cut my tongue
and now other flavors are flavorless, bland, unessential
if it comes from within and the insides are but a void
then what can come out?
and the perpetual turned shoulder fears a quick glance, but desires that knowing stare and smile
badgers, fierce and fluffy.
moose, strong and moosey.
the common line was in that connection
everything else is superfluous
hindsight is, eh, 20/20
foresight..well **** i knew what it was
the dark hand extended with warm vibes and false face
you could find it in anyone's hand
is there a case being plead? perhaps.. or it's just the void talking
it was a redness, angry, tender, vile, beautiful, servile, dominating. perfect.
maybe it's on the road..a squirrel being struck by ****** drivers
maybe it is the road, long and thoughtful
maybe it's a bad poem
this one?
yes.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
Do not get tempted by
Unessential things that
Not only will have
You crying and withering with pain but
Aching with desires
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 10:38 PM UTC
))))))))
••
)
<>
/ | \
/
/\
/ \
THIS IS MY RENDITION OF THE INFAMOUS
BERYLDOV LEW PAINTING
GIRL WITH SHORT ARMS AND NO ***** LOOKING
OFF THE THE SIDE
NOW HANGING FROM A TREE
IN DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN
no!
( the painting --- not BERYLDOV!)
•••
••
WE
(Who have come so far )
WE
( we the human race )
\\
We
We who have rocked the cradle in the sun
//
Stony faced
Stiff
I'll at ease
We see the children crying
WE
we who are only children
We the full power
The power and the will
The righteous potency
Of human fate
••
We
We of the rocking cradle in the sun
•••••
The simple the kind the good
//
We of the human heart and the eye and mind of god
We of all the ancient wisdom
We who have seen
The Divine poems
Written --- here
O
In the passion of our appreciation
In the grace of our mere existence
The sense of brotherhood
Sisterhood
Oneness
&
Harmony
••
WE
Do solemnly vow
To never
Comply with nor accept
In any manner
In any essential
Or
Unessential way
Not even acknowledge
The presence
Of any form of the deception
Being practiced now
••
And we shall write
TRUE
we shall write
STRONG
\\
Of the pure soul
That which we are
And forever shall be
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
Let's be honest people
I write too many of these **** things
for all of them to be any good
I know that the notifications from Harry J Baxter can get annoying
the only thing is
I'm not whole yet
and each poem I write
****** or great
removes a piece of me which is deemed
unessential
Pain is weakness leaving the body
********
pain is the body leaving the idea of weakness behind
one minute
two minutes
three minutes later
I'm dealing with ten views and one like
which is fine
eat me up
I taste like ****
but I'm nutritious
that's for ******* sure
read my three hundred and something poems
and try to tell me you know my life
you'd still be wrong
working on working towards being completely honest
but a part of me cries against the crimes of obvious weakness
that's fine
patience is a a part of my best part
I can write ****
until there's no **** left to come out
that's the goal
aim
desire
I can sound similar at times
but don't fall asleep
this ocean runs deep
and is ready to explode
hold your friend's hand
a tsunami is brewing
and I'm in the mood to drown
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
Poem, The old wheelbarrow
"She felt forgotten, antiquated, awkward
Ill-fitted, incapable, unsuitable, worthless, barren, meaningless, mediocre, unessential and trivial.
AND A BIG FAT INCONVENIENCE.........
Her capacity for anything and everything dwindling as an over ripened apple loses its juice, any strength drained, sapped, starved and strained each time a new **** began it's desperate life, each flower that bloomed before her, somehow rendered her invisible.
Held together by the rust that life eventually bestows upon us all.
Tyres deflated, wheels that no longer held hunger for new adventures.
Nuts and bolts that had long since argued and permanently fallen out with one another, the rust settled between them enduringly as the woodworm to its dinner.
She was a sorry excuse for a once beautiful, strong and hard working wheelbarrow and she had almost given up................
✨️Ahhhhhhhh, but her wisdom!!!! All those years.......What of that?????✨️
She'd always listened,
absorbed,
but never knowingly spoke of this
What she had yet to learn,
Was that she had housed each tiny living organism.
She'd provided honey for the bees, and in doing so, life for the world.
She hadn't set any world records,
(No)
She hadn't knowingly saved any lives,
(Yes)
but she'd protected,
given out her wisdom freely
and all with so much love.
Absorbed carbon dioxide and fizzed out oxygen.
Given love in abundance and rarely asked for any in return
She had given a safe space for the thoughts, secrets and words of her sapling flowers
She'd been self sufficient, self reliable, independent, indestructible, valuable, knowledgeable, needed, wanted, desired, capable.... Oh. So. Capable.
The rust, the flat tires, the weakness of strength both in body and in mind, is just a part of being the best version that you can be.
To carry on regardless for yourself and for your flowers."
*********It's taken me all **** day, but I no longer see a worn out and batteted wheelbarrow.
I see a vessel of immense strength, determination and an abundance of love ❤️ *********
Sep 16, 2022
Sep 16, 2022 at 10:36 AM UTC
You're the unexpected dollar in my pocket,
Or the dog that came up for petting,
Or the song, that I love, coming on the radio.
A red leaf on brown mulch.
A simple good thing in my day
unessential, but wanted and beautiful and bright.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC