"unproven" poems
Are there lawyers in heaven?
who sells fish in a Seven-Eleven?
How do you prove guilt or innocence,
with the devil conspicuous in his absence?
Are there barbers or pastors in Heaven?
Until the End-of-Days, it is unproven;
If we are to do some speculation,
Better to do more charitable donations.
But one profession, I quite understand,
whether in hell or God's Disneyland,
that will not make a good living;
that's doing double entry accounting.
So where do accountants go, you ask;
now you really need an oxygen mask;
In hell, in heaven, or anywhere you look,
there's just no place to cook the books.
Someone may now ask about exorcists,
I hate to answer, but I just can't resist;
ask your grandma or grandpa,
they are in a real big dilemma.
In heaven, no demons to trouble you,
In hell, there are more than quite a few;
In heaven, all are good, so no originality,
In hell, who works for nothing for Eternity?
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 5:09 AM UTC
Even if love is never returned,
never even received,
it is never in vain
for love never fails
To love someone
though you mean nothing to them
may seem too cruel a burden
for the heart to bear
But the only thing worse
than not being loved
is to not love
And so the greatest tragedy
of love spurned or lost
would be to stop loving
For to cease loving
that which causes us pain
would be to let the pain win
But for as long as we love,
really love with Christ's own heart,
no matter what else happens
we win
Love without pain
remains unproven
and therefore is meaningless
But love through pain invokes
nothing less than the miraculous
and inspires even the incredulous
Only continued love
can redeem the pain of loving
and only a Perfect Love
can heal love's scalding wound
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
All sorrow is perpendicular occurring
at right angles of tragedy encircling
the grief-stricken with straight edges
only once intersecting across infinite planes—
Don't dare draw the lines between points
or shade the region with limits or curves
because the trajectories of bullets are plotted
on branes intolerant of slightest triangulation
Woe unto the seekers of sine waves
sobbing thinking of filling every trough
believing surely by now we've offered enough
to sate these bloodthirsty Euclidean demons
Cresting won't ever arrive in this course
filled to the brim with asymptotes, cold corollaries
but never spilling over under our sacred
pledge of allegiance to the 2nd Parallel Postulate
No intersections can be admitted with thoughts
& prayers extending outward barely co-planar
serious public policy proposals axiomatic
insistence on the Nirvana Theorem or nothing
A set of all points remains, mutually exclusive
motionless and always incongruent clueless
about their own particular geometries
awaiting radical Pythagorean salvation
Some paradigm we’ve built here though!
Two hundred years of living polygonal hand
to elliptical mouth without tangential reflection
on the unproven flatness of humanspace.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 4:41 AM UTC
Hi . . . This is about the kinds of people who work in corporate big money office buildings . . . Imagine them at lunchtime, how they interact and picture the scene in any . . .
Busy little bistro
Sharp - sharks - circle - the - pack
Pinstripe finned and eager
Snapping their snacks back with ease
Points to prove with nothing to lose
No cracks in their creases
They're keen to return to the fray.
These boys play with girls
Aren't yet uncles with nieces
Just unproven throwaway pieces . . .
In shiny . eat ***** . suited up . Chelsea boots
Bidding for ***** with cute looks and loot
Touting with confident ***** . . .
As mobile as their smart devices
Loose
Next . . . ?
And fresh from a mornings abuse
And fifteen years of fear . .
Beleaguered older shirts sit . .
Flogged dogs with weak barks
Parked packed into packs.
Tongue tied ties tied together
Safety is numbers
Get each others backs
These partially satisfied cats
Know today is NOT their day . .
That was yesterday . . .
Obliging lives and mortgages
The reasons why they stay
Passing Cabs cruise . . .
Seen it all before.
Sat in the back a high class *****
Glazed eyes glancing away
From her play-away payday
Nibbles in the boardroom . .
Napkins . . for the dribbles
A working lunch for this Girl
Her money-shot a wrap without applause
Was just a . . . pause . . . between paws . .
Then Dora on reception
John, who minds the door
Evie in the IT room
Or dave . . who buffs the Marble
Sparkles glinting in the floor . .
And the guards . . who guard . . what exactly . . ?
All of this . . ? Networking . . !!!
Everybody's selling something
It doesn't quite stink
But it definitely smells
A little high
As time whiles by
Seems this
Is the state of our nation
And in this state
Defines our aspirations
And yes . . this state's a splinter
Taunting my imagination . . .
Do I stake my place within this game
Or sit in observation
Commentating on a race
Where human nature fakes it's place
Where people sit as players
Yet no one wears their own face
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
The butterfly flutters in the skies
looking for a mere complication
to a place where the sun smiles
below the daily mediocre waves
where all tunes same frequency
the multitude parades in lines
sinking in unproven priced lies
moving all along in a rollercoaster
In upward current the levelled high
In downward demotion the trips
As we drool on the bonded chains
In upheaval of lame indecisions
Casting all there is and there is not
Must we sacrifice all we have got
The body that chooses to give and live
A soul in forests waiting to soar
A mind carrying more than it bears
On this holy ground that sink below
where faith is grass that withers
and hope is a rainbow that fades
The blooded paths painted in red
oozing confusion and utter misery
Shall we wait for the embellished heroes?
To teach us how to be and survive
Police bark and robots deployed to shoot
Civilians protest on injustice and inequality
we all beaker and peck the sainted patch
Humanity is our freedom and grace
a tapestry blended by colours and cultures
a oneness painted and screening liberty
The authentic texture of raw love and truth
tainted by patriotism and indocrination
Networks channel and harvest poor yields
whilst we beaker with heated controversies
I, you, we all breath the same scented air
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
A ***** deserves respect
When she can break you down
To her level
Whether you want to go
Or not
When just the PROMISE of her arrival
Shakes one to the core
And when in the REALITY of her arrival
One is faced with but two choices-
UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER… or
A FIGHT TO THE DEATH
She’s so bad… That...
She can decimate an entire family… One by one…
Or show up where she is least expected… in a surprise attack…
And I do not like her… And she don’t RUN things here… but
She IS given respect…In that
This low-down cruel ***** will
make a believer out of the hardest man
make your life... and the lives of your loved ones
revolve solely around her
make you break your bank
make you drive miles and miles
for unproven remedies… and
experimental relief
make you try ANYTHING
from crystal necklaces to copper bracelets...
to banish her evil self... and
I DO NOT LIKE HER…
but whether I like her or not...
she DOES command a ******** sort of
respect
So I always capitalize the C in Cancer... cuz
She is my enemy… and
One should never
underestimate
the enemy
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 7:26 PM UTC
Say what you like
Say what you will
But the truth to the matter of whether God is real
Lies within the heart of you'r soul
That is the heart that does not beat
Nor can it be seen
You may say science has fact
I also may say that theories indeed them selves are all proven
Take to account the string theory
That one thing is seen while the other is leering
Not seen but existent and that as it is
Fact is irrelevant when it comes down to this
So take to my word's
Be that as it may
Theology is something
Proven by rays
Sounds
And light
Speed that is fast 4 times the speed of light
Unheard of by science but by space and time
It is possible so fact that everything is slow
This is a fact unproven but proven to be know
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 5:13 PM UTC
Twin snakes berthed on the wrists
One born of innocence, one born of sin
One lies asleep, the other awake
With a lidless stare and a restless ache
Tongue twists between forever and for naught
The heart yearns to reach the momentous, often cited fraud
‘Impossibility,’ the serpent screams
‘The unproven disease’
Slithers on the spot
In perpetuity
With a ceaseless speech
I follow completely
In my wake
Is dust and death
The once conscious snake
Has become rotting flesh
Upon my right
The other stirs
Fat and swollen, it smiles
Calling itself sin
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
catatonic patagonia rumbles off beyond the tilt in world spheres unknown unproven
a wasteland
not there, here but who wastes land decides where the waste lands as mist obscures trees like it knows its aesthetic knows the beating heart the focused eye rolling forming subversive lands and wanderings unmasked only by forward march and direct sunlight move like mist feel the fog crawl up rock faces and empty spaces foot calf hamstring submerged in secrecy
shoot bearings lose bearings shoot bearings lost bearings the bering strait rushes further than the south andes get strait to the point the peak the top unfolding dips and precipices, teetering on the edge of identity can't see can't see where what
but the fog relents revealing a why that sits a while then crumbles like a letter left in the laundry or the will to lift both feet from this earth
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object that he look'd upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him of the day, a part of the day
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
Climbing trees became a part of this child,
And playing catch, splashing in puddles, racing bikes down the block,
And tormenting neighbor kids,
And the falling down and the scraping of knees
Became a part of this child.
Nap time, time outs, smelling thyme and rosemary and lavender,
Digging through the crisp verdant garden
All became a part of this child.
Boy Scouts, dinosaur hunting, star searching, pencil drawing,
Became a part of him.
His own parents,
Reading aloud, arranging play dates, preparing snacks,
Supplying toys only to be forgotten about
for a stick or perhaps a box.
Mother off working, leaving by dawn, returning for dinner
And father, strict, the warden, always teaching responsibility,
Both becoming part of this child.
Vacations and swimming and visiting the grandparent and getting spoiled
Going to the zoo and seeing so many terrifying and exciting creatures.
His parents, always feeding and inspiring imagination
Becoming a part of him.
Walking to middle school became a part of him.
Lockers, combinations, IDs, pungent locker rooms, the labyrinth of halls
crowded and loud
The anticipation for lunch, the sweet sound of the three o'clock bell
The flurry toward the doors all became a part of him.
Pushups and crunches and laps and blown whistles
Loving every moment of the cool fresh air
Newfound freedom, licenses, cars, jobs
This responsibility became a part of him.
Plucking, scratching, squeaking, struggling, playing
Sounds of an unproven orchestra growing together,
All became a part of this boy.
Surviving the first day freshman year
So small, so young, so innocent
Growing, maturing, learning, all became a part of him.
School dances and football games and musicals and stress
Cool clay carefully sculpted, melodic rhythms played in tune, rubber ***** quickly dodged
AP class after AP class, notebook after notebook filled meticulously
New friendships formed, old friendships strengthened.
All this became a part of this child.
These became a part of that child who went forth every day
And who now goes, and will always go forth every day.
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC
easy,
it could be so easy
simple, painless, fulfilling
life could open opportunities
for both your heart and mind
it doesn't even take an effort
but it's like you don't even try
unconditional
doesn't come free with you
you speak so many words
all often unproven true
things could be different
if you just come through
things could be heaven
if you only knew.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
I crave silence when you speak to me
Words are typically weapons
And I’m not used to compliments
Your company is desperately unfulfilling
Hiding is so much easier than
Feeling warm embraces
I’m anxious your arms are chains
Your heart is a fire
I’m a witch on trial
For unproven crimes
That only I’ve seen
Only I know what lurks
Behind my restless eyes
Doubts and fears that repel
Those like yourself
Strength can be seen
In someone unwilling
To give up on someone
Who already gave up
On
Himself
Speak strong and hug hard
Because the silence and chains
Are all I’ve known
Please prove me wrong
Or end me quickly
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 9:34 AM UTC
Time is filled with false promise
Pain does not erase forever
The sweet momory of a face
Interwoven lives in golden haze
Amongst memories of dead tomorrows
Lined up alongside shimmering woods barefoot with grass
Ghost like ribbons of unproven tomorrows
Floating images spent on quiet ponds
Periscope eyes yielding dippers, into dreamtimes of effortless passion
Vast vaults of time smooth with summertime sleep
This is what I see as I look deep
Long slender fingers pressing down
Keys black and white
Lifetimes spent... Sacred Sound
Notes carved from your heart sent heaven bound
You lived four score and ten
You name unwhispered in other hearts
Nor was there one who greeted you at your door
You called out, cried out long into the nights
This lifetime spent alone and lame
No fame or recognition
But poverty and hunger were your daily bread
A single cover for your bed, not even a pillow for your head
Ink a few sheets of paper, candles some wine
You spent your all, to own a mistress, of wood and bone
The candle you burnt was at both ends
Without regret your heart was given in its purest form
Bliss is what you mastered wth your art you used the pain of us apart
So full and open was your heart that your music did not dim with age
I called for you one whole month and then another
Come to me come to me softly I whispered
Come rest you've done your best
Time to come home my Darkling
It is the end... this script... this test
Lay your head upon her ivory skin
Kiss her fare thee well
I promise you shall meet again. Come rest, the best is yet to be
You rose up from four score and twenty. Your room alive with warmth and golden light
Covered in Blue Stars you took my hand, a very bright light was burning
You grinned, you saw a youth
A boy of twenty in your skin
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
( Episode 1- Putong )
Poong may Kapal
Kalong po'y Dasal
Noong ako'y pagal
Tulong mo'y Bukal
KulOng pa naman at sakal
dahong binasbas ay banal
Payong ay bukas sa lokal
Balong iniigiban ay moral
kay tagal sinasalubong ng daluyong
Kay bagal umusbong ng Kamagong
Dumatal na at lumipas rin ang dagundong
Kumintal pa rin sa akin hampas ng bagumbong
Ngayong patayo na nga si Pangulong Digong
Tayong mga Pinoy pa din ang pihong bayong
may layong muling maLulan ang panibagong pinunong
Mayroong Tapang sa Pagsulong ng Totoong PagkanLong
Mala-Antonio Luna ang dila,,,hinding-hindi umuurong
Andres Bonifacio naman kung sumugod,,pag itak ang umiiral
Samantala tila Apo Lakay kung umakay ng talino sa pag-usbong
At buwis benepisyo sa sarili ang ikararangal kapara ni Jose Rizal
Sa ngalan ng ama na naging kasing-tatag ng bumbong.,..
Paupo na nga at buong pagpupunyagi sa pagitan ng tipikal kontra kritikal...
Ang anak na itinakda walang iba kundi si Presidente Bongbong...
Ang ika-Labing pitong Pangulo ng Pilipinas , sa inang-bayan ay mapagmahal !!!
© June 8, 2022
Pen by soLemn oaSis
it is not emergency but so
merging epic getting-in to
" T M A L M " episode 2
were
reminiscing and heading
on the way too,
right inside the ride
where
i picked packed boom,
as i rewrite my old poem
entitled tic tac toe
wears
a single syllabication
of chosen words' lyricism
narrated from start to end and
bears
a no beware bars set up
until i care to dare
the bottom bares on top !
fear
neither nobody nor elses foes
and heaven knows good son
who does one hell of a bad
near
unproven bundled doses of unrhymed
lines made by those unarmed farmers
gonewild with unarmored poetries .
T E A R ! ! !
h r r e
r a r p
o s i e
u u v a
g r e t
h e s s
Jul 3, 2022
Jul 3, 2022 at 7:46 AM UTC
What was the last thing you forgot?
I thought I’d forgotten about Chumbawamba
Their song about not remembering whether they had amnesia
And discovered the reasons we forget
There are three
Sometimes the memory is simply lost
I fail to record it
I struggle to retrieve it
I lose it through the passage of time
And I may as well never have learned it
Sometimes the memory was never right
A subtle hint overwrites it
A trick of the mind confuses where I got it
A belief or assumption filters and interprets it
And surely I learn to trust my memory less
And then, of course, I could repress it
Squash it into the back of my mind
Remembering Freud’s unproven theories
Hoping that what’s left behind
Leaves me feeling more positive
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 7:19 AM UTC
i'm a long way from home,
life sends me afloat through time,
it disrupts the foundation of my fears,
cools down the effect of my bad decision
swirls around my achievements in celebration,
rises above problems i need not face.
I'm at peace, yet still a long way from home.
my being turns to vapour,
i can't find me
reappears upon a throne of my great deeds
i am at ease.
the past, a heap of success upon success
the future, a cotton candy ball of opportunity
its like disaster is an unproven theory,
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 4:04 PM UTC
Laying prone next to death which may or may not be my neighbor; knowing that nothing I remember will save me; knowledge, useless knowledge, a required accompaniment to my carefully selected claret smiling with assurance as I infringe upon their right to object to the depths of my retort.
A wrinkled sheet ignored but useful in its random spread across my torso draws the sweat from my pores as I save the planet from my presence while the restlessness of unmerciful insomnia instills a quiet uselessness to my thoughts which I egocentrically assume will yield prose worthy of public display.
As the knowing is swallowed whole, as the last hardened cheese ******* on a plate, it becomes relevant to believe in anything unproven as further observed phenomena is no more or less a sequel to a play yet to be understood by genius or idiocy whose consciousness rival one another in their need to be loved by a suffering mother.
The bullet crosses the boundary between dream and threat into an assumed position of relevance in every step I take towards a repetitive life filtered only by the need for a decision; unhappy with or without; each the same yet held aloft by the delusion of a chance encounter with a heart I will use but never protect.
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 10:06 AM UTC
...
Direction without movement gets us nowhere
Passion without power is nonexistent
Presence without change remains unproven
Worship conforms the spirit into Wonder
...
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 2:39 AM UTC
Unproven theories boss over Science
Science has become the new religion
Religion has become a hub for hypocrites
Hypocrites want to become our leaders
Our leaders want to pillage our land
Our land is stripped bare of its wealth
Wealth is now worth more that people
People are abandoning their intelligence
Intelligence is now becoming artificial
Artificial is sold as though from Nature
Nature for most is ‘as seen’ on television
Television encloses our new reality
Reality thus, has become devoid of Passion
Passion that we need to find the truth
The truth about ‘what is’, and ‘what is not’.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 9:05 AM UTC
The Industrialist
When the shipping tycoon
in my hometown, died they
dipped him (Best suit and shoes)
in liquid plastic and
when dry they put him on a towering plinth
so he could
watch over us for all time.
Birds took a great interest in
the statue and soon covered in green goo
it was high up in the air and difficult to clean
birds were declared illegal immigrants
and shot dead.
A night bird, (perhaps an owl),
pecked holes in the statue’s
shoes, the body inside, now slime,
ran down the plinth into
the drain and down a gutter,
the plastic casing imploded and
hung like a ****** in a window sill
of a house scandalized
by unproven rumours.
Since seedy facts about the tycoon’s
shady dealings and ****** custom
********** had since came to light –
as foam in a sewer-
no new statue was made.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 11:12 AM UTC
we live in times
that make it difficult
to differentiate reality from fiction
not in the field of literature
where borders always have been fluid
but in quotidian discourses
of politicians television internet
speakers present unproven attitudes
as if they were reality unquestionable
and they get huffy and evasive
if proof comes out that they are wrong
they claim that they have been misquoted
or at least misunderstood
and even if they do recant
this never hits the front page of the medium
but somewhere inside mixed with trivialities
few people check
so it seems to be up to every one of us
to use our brains and bother
whether the data we are being served
are edible or rotten
bccause these speakers
seem to have forgotten
what communication is about
we need to really understand each other
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 5:34 PM UTC
These days, it’s getting harder for me to hear, though
My hearing is perfectly fine.
Words, speech, rhetoric, proclaimed in our
Homes, schools, churches, media and lives,
Filled with anger, pain, rage,
Endless debating, name calling,
Attacking, yelling, shouting,
Drama and diatribes.
A new willingness sweeps the land, offering
Gratuitous unfiltered honesty.
A truth sport that calculatingly
Cuts off at the knees,
Sending the newly scarred and
Wounded soul to walk away, with
A knife in their back.
What unfulfilled need justifies
This anger, frustration, rage,
Blaming, shaming and finger pointing,
And the creation of new effigies by endlessly
Dissecting and parsing every word and phrase?
Have we become little more than
Hurting people who hurt others?
Are we just reacting in kind with a
Pent-up frustration that has nowhere to go?
Are we really so fearful that
Things aren’t going as they should, afraid
We’ll never get what we want, or scared that
We’ll never have what we need?
Could it be that we are unconsciously
Caught in a vibration of drama, and
Easy prey for the hidden plans
And agendas of others?
Or, have we become slaves of an ego
That willingly fills our minds with
Unproven certainties to
Give us what we do not have but want?
Maybe, strangely, we are
Seeking a connection in the
Only way we know.
Hoping our shrill voices will
Convince the universe that we matter,
As we misguidedly attempt to make
Some difference on our piece of earth.
This isn’t life!
Yelling never convinces a single soul
About the rightness of a cause or the
Correctness of an action.
It only drives us further apart and
Makes us dead to ourselves and each other.
Perhaps it's time to remember
The wisdom of the ancients,
Spoken so long ago.
In compassion there is virtue,
Blessed are the peacemakers,
What is given is returned
A thousand fold; and,
In the measure we judge,
We shall be judged,
Love the Gods and
Do no harm.
These days, it’s getting harder for me to hear, though
My hearing is perfectly fine.
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 4:50 AM UTC
If you ask our NewsMax, America One fueled, republican congressmen
who won the last presidential election - they’ll pretend that they don’t know.
But hey, these are the guys, the “honest brokers” we can trust, to figure out UFOs.
These republicans disavow Trump’s clear treason. If they refuse to follow those clues,
like video captured by the guilty themselves - how can their UFO “hearings” fail to amuse?
It’s a shrewd political distraction, a republican red-herring, to put vague “aliens” in the news
just when Trump's lawyers are figuring out which prison facility he should choose.
In this circus of misinformation, we’re offered unproven decades of government collusion,
heck, we even have that RFK.jr nut insisting that the alien saucers are full of jews.
Of course, the aliens must be from distant galaxies - in their new breed of flying saucers -
why else would they be turning down so many lucrative showbiz offers?
Will it turn out that the cute, little, ET-guys are here conducting interstellar analysis?
Stay tuned. Have the aliens come to eat us - should we be frozen in fearful paralysis?
Or will our republican overlords, so busy removing our freedoms, decide it’s time to save us?
There’s no long proven, scientific fact that the newer, dumber, Republicans haven’t disputed,
maybe the UFOs were sent back from the future, their mission: study primitive human stupid.
Jul 31, 2023
Jul 31, 2023 at 11:24 AM UTC
How can constant love abide forever
In a fickle, ever-changing heart
Of a roe, whose eyes do wander
About and be lighted on another hart--
Pondering greatly over his attraction
Along with his unproven affection?
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC