"unspecified" poems
thinking about how cops are beating protestors senseless not even 20 minutes from where i live.
thinking about how they block off the streets and stand unmasked, batons in hand, other hand resting pointedly on their gun.
thinking about how it could be me next— another unspecified black face and black body and black existence snuffed out— a hashtag, a mural.
(and those are the lucky ones.)
thinking about how a memorial is the best case scenario for a black life.
thinking about the bodies in the street.
thinking about blood splattering the ground, mixing with paint and obscuring the “black lives matter” lettering on the road.
thinking about the chalk art and loud music in a neighborhood soon-to-be-gentrified.
thinking about how we’ve grown used to the stench of rotting flesh outside our doors.
thinking about the taste of blood in my mouth from my nearly-severed tongue i didn’t realize i was biting.
thinking about the tension in my neck and jaw.
thinking about the way my eyes never seem to close.
thinking about the eyes that will never again open.
thinking thinking thinking.
Sep 27, 2020
Sep 27, 2020 at 4:27 PM UTC
Mutual embrace severed
Out of politeness, leg
Removed from leg we pulled
Apart desiring separation
In the afterglow.
An affair just begun
Is like a morning
After a night of rain, the
Sun sliding through gaps in the
Ceremonious cloud,
Serene, reassuring and secretive.
It was not yet love,
Just **********
A curious investigation
Of a stranger, hardly known,
Of unspecified views, who
Has not yet freely spoken.
The routine had long ago been fixed,
Inconsequential phrases over coffee,
Denying breakfast, smiles
Without intent. Holding hands
At the door, a kiss,
And then the regretful goodbye.
A voice remembered as a sigh
A movement as pleasure,
No other memory but the callow scent
Of brief uncertain intimacy.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
I didn't know you could read lips,
so I laughed unreasonably hard when
people were telling you their ********
excuses for not being able to
donate money to you
and your family for Christmas.
The irony being I gave a stranger a
roll of quarters the other day
because they asked,
and I'm eager to lose all riches and go insane.
Yelled at my girlfriend for the first time yesterday;
she was frustrated that I wasn't frustrated that
she was upset, so
I banged my head against the wall and screamed
"What am I supposed to do?"
Still have the mark somewhere under this free haircut.
I don't get how we all push people away
and beg for them to chase us.
Never give me a word, but always
want me yearning. Not old yet,
but not from lack of trying.
Not wise, but it's not desired.
Fools make kinder people anyways.
Amen to "I'd rather get ****** and keep giving."
Guess you could say I make it rain on those in need,
but please don't. Don't ever say that to anyone.
Write it down somewhere unspecified and
lock it in a drawer, or light it on fire.
Put it through a shredder,
I'll tell you a little secret,
I'll try to tell you a secret;
Most of us are more selfless than Christ.
Merry Christmas in August.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
Gal?
Pal?
Wait, what now?
How?
Bound to get some questions from this, some hate; a backlash. The funny side of this is my middle name can basically be a backslash.
Some will say I don't have to mention.
Others will say I'm doing it for attention.
I'm doing it because I don't know.
I'm putting my confusion fully on show.
Whoohoo! Yippie! Let's go!
I don't have to be shy.
So what? Sometimes, I feel pretty much, like a guy
Perhaps, the majority will stigmatise.
For you see, my gender does not fit into a pretty little box, at least not in society’s eyes
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
How are you ever
Going to get out from under this?
It hunts with its nose
It is brave from lack of sleep
Onions, computers, red cabbage, loss
This tangle of things
Goes to sleep in a knot
Is that you in the picture?
Take as long as you please
Come around back now
Fierce and rambling, blasting a request
For mercy with an air horn
Pointing to an unspecified time and place
A leaflet addresses your problems
You lose your ability to use language
Thoughts stack up but cannot be forged
There is nothing to be afraid of
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:44 AM UTC
Dementia
How are you ever
Going to get out from under this?
It hunts with its nose
It is brave from lack of sleep
Onions, computers, red cabbage, loss
This tangle of things
Goes to sleep in a knot
Is that you in the picture?
Take as long as you please
Come around back now
Fierce and rambling, blasting a request
For mercy with an air horn
Pointing to an unspecified time and place
A leaflet addresses your problems
You lose your ability to use language
Thoughts stack up but cannot be forged
There is nothing to be afraid of
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:27 AM UTC
* "It's ok to cry just don't let them see."
Words my mother taught me.
She never told me who "them" was supposed to be.
So I assumed them was the world and built up walls.
Not to push people away,
just to protect myself-
from unspecified dangers and risks.
Like heartbreak, and heartache and being breakable.
But brick by brick you're crumbling those walls.
Without even trying, there's no force at all.
And I feel like Jericho,
where suddenly I'll be open...
And what if I get burned too?
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 1:53 AM UTC
need
street
just
like
gin
time
vermouth
fuck
blue
beer
man
glass
drink
liquid
shattered
away
bar
notice
feel
soul
right
set
main
shadow
white
vodka
haiku
perfect
match
shot
big
mornings
past
saw
light
join
edge
black
candy
make
words
elephants
bastard
olive
eyes
poetic
sound
way
long
passed
die
motion
page
drain
dallas
yesterday
martini
brine
passage
window
brand
highway
blank
icy
hills
night
sitting
cheap
carpet
holding
filled
gulped
condensation
women
pint
quick
imagine
dive
gripped
professors
stem
point
false
self
peace
hardwood
epiphany
highball
unspecified
downed
crystal
means
sting
cinema
percent
mixing
forget
bukowski
sifted
fingers
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 2:11 AM UTC
replica of the statue of liberty, made of
concrete, a beacon for weary motorists
stranded on route 66, endlessly
drifting in the dusty abyss, stands in front of entrance
with her readymade torch.
she mumbles into a phone, then hands us a key.
a tiny room for breakfast goes unused
and the swimming pool is cloudy,
the concrete walls reverberating
empty chlorine
pleasantries, a watered down
hotspring dream.
above the headboard
is a long mirror, spanning
the length of the smoky room's
back wall, a silvery strip
reflecting faded yellow wallpaper
with subtle unspecified flowers.
the side exit leads to an empty lot, long
grass growing out of neglected potholes, a cyclone fence
blocking off a direct route to the sonic
drive-thru.
the sky is orange, it's always been
orange, it always will be
orange, looming over distant mountains
with narcissistic strata.
Apr 20, 2020
Apr 20, 2020 at 5:44 PM UTC
some say
the world is out of kilter
others predict
that things are always getting worse
and humankind is doomed
to some terrible
though unspecified
fate
yet others see the second coming
of their god within their lifetime
somehow
‘no future’ seems to be
the fashion of the day
what if
rather than just complain
about how wrong things are
feel sorry for ourselves
and conjure up the end of our days
we take some action
don’t leave decisions in the hands
of corporations and ‘professionals’ and the 1%
of politicians who are puppets
of lobbyists and billionaires
what if
the 99% wake up and cast their votes
in their own interest
rather than that of candidates
who eloquently advocate
simple solutions for complex problems
showing
without knowing it
that they really have no clue
what they are talking about
what if
we decide to elect leaders
who actually drink the water they are preaching
who after they’re elected also walk their talk
stick to their programs
keep their promises
to make
with our help
the world a better place
what if ……
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
Little is known and less is appreciated about the geographic, strategic and political significance of the Spratley and Paracel Islands situated midway across the South China Sea.
Disputed historically for ownership by Malaysia, Vietnam the Phillipines and China, amongst others, the islands are situated strategically across the major commercial sea lanes of the region and atop an ocean of vast, submarine deposits of untapped fossil oil.
China has used her muscle to occupy and claim these islands, together with unspecified, adjacent sea way area. She has claimed them as sovereign territory of the People’s Republic of China. Until this occupation the islands have been largely unpopulated and have had little or no military significance. Recently, however, Chinese constructors have been ruthlessly dredging the surrounding coral reef and building a 3000m long concrete runway for military purposes on the hugely expanded artificial island area created.
Chinese troops, in divisional strength, occupy and defend the new territory.
It is significant that all parties in the region are watching China and gauging her intentions. None less so than the United States Navy who have an aircraft carrier and supporting military vessels, stationed permanently nearby and conduct over flights of the island airspace testing sovereignty and Chinese reaction.
To date reaction has been muted….but this will definitely change.
China is frantically building to be the world’s next superpower, economically, industrially, politically and militarily.
...And, as this development comes to fruition in the very near future, it is inevitable that this distant, remote set of South China Sea islands shall become the next global hot point of international confrontation.
China and the United States of America will go eyeball to eyeball, bristling with hostility, resolute and immovable, each waiting for the other to blink!
…..and we, the rest of the world, shall, again, tremble in our boots, breathlessly awaiting the outcome.
Marshalg
22 May 2015
AUCKLAND.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
I am a brainwashed, pompous, white girl.
I am a blonde haired zombie.
I am an unspecified music genre.
I am an incoherent thought in the brain of a broken society.
I am the result of a hard-ass Catholic and half-ass Baptist.
I am the consequence of a hard mother and an absent father
I am a product of a corrupted America.
I am a privileged white statistic.
I constantly play the victim.
I constantly hold myself responsible.
I constantly lie, cheat, and steal
I constantly prove I am a hypocrite.
I am simple, indecisive, and manipulative.
I am myself and then contradict myself by being someone else.
I am human, but unadorned.
I am a blank canvas which manifests contradictions and inabilities.
I am a snowflake made of stone.
I am an uninterested, direct line of truth spurts
I am plain.
As you see from my complexion, I am pale.
As you hear from my words, I am a refutation of minority.
I am not unique, I am not creative.
I am not what you think I am.
I am not who you think I am.
But if you knew who I was:
Would you leave?
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
A dream, time unspecified-
desires descend to my thought,
standing on the side lines,
avoiding the cacophony of the crowd,
excited about her finesse,
I watch her waltz,
oh! those gliding steps!
On the pool of light, round and round
she circles like an angel possessed,
"Today she sets foot on the next step,
to the future.Years sit on her shoulders
gentle.See her beaming, an oil lamp!"
Tomorrow is waiting outside this hall,
with bated breath, I am aware,
The cheering crowd's cynosure she is,
their eyes, butterflies, flutter around her,
then my eyes catch this, none else did, I am sure,
a drop of sweat, doused in her fragrance,
a diamond, finely chiselled it looked to me,
glitters on her chin, such a lovely sight,
Her partner in waltz just doesn't notice.
And I thought,"My God! she is gorgeous"
And it falls, the diamond, though so far,
I extend my hand and grab it, what a magic-
I share with her?
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 8:29 AM UTC
Solemnity foreshortened--the press
of limbs...hence, the wide smile of
the enacted.
Our meeting ground shimmies
toward an eternal density...as to
alight the spiritual workload of its
benefactors.
A floating people, we...dead-stopped
by the ends of our living.
Lucidly signed away we progress
our will...no intervention dissuades
lesser or greater action/inaction.
Something's come, a brazen head,
revivified--its definitions alien
and wide open...wide open.
Eyes don reality as a membrane
just to conceive it--as there are
days when a flower of unspecified
genus is a terrible offering.
Our overcompensation precedes
us...it is our passion anticipating
itself.
For once fire knows of itself, it is too
settled to recall ash.
As...he/she lit their bastion of faith
without provocation.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:30 AM UTC
Dreams that collide in collective collaborations,
merging mercifully into identical imaginations.
In sporadic unspecified dioramas of decoration,
seemingly devoid of light, yet full of illumination.
Winds that billow in bellows of blue balderdash,
that hides these vague souls in the elephant grass,
as white horses run for an unconsecrated pass;
I sit sipping lightning from a small green flask.
I cannot see beyond this collision of cataracts,
sitting in a puddle of Alzheimer's and absent facts,
hard to predict parlor tricks' and posthumous pacts,
metamorphosis of those we ****** on, lies intact.
Veins constricted from catastrophes and contradictions,
synapses sinewed by audacious biannual addictions,
misdemeanors of malicious misnomers and maledictions,
breathing in the beneficent bleating of benedictions.
Dreams that collide in collective collaborations,
merging mercifully into identical imaginations.
In sporadic unspecified dioramas of decoration,
seemingly devoid of light, yet full of illumination
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
what dies when you grow, aren't we supposed to develop and bloom, why does it seem like we fade, like sepiatone, how does one resist the dust that collects on their denied ambitions, and why do they give up, maybe it is easier to be born again than to grow up, seeing everything for the first time, as if it were new, try again, i wonder how many have stumbled over the things they didn't do, when they still had the passion, the greatest intentions to consume all at once their unspecified paths, i see a child with a fascinated smile, and uninhibited honesty, they glisten, they are ignorant but i envy the unknowing, that directly after actions are consequences, i wish i was still picking flowers in my grandmother's yard, blowing the heads off dandelions, wishing for a pink bicycle, it floats in the wind, somewhere in time i forget why it was so important, there's priorities now and changes and risks to be taken, it's like life has suddenly become dangerous, and i don't have an excuse to run around naked anymore.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 2:07 AM UTC
The Man: It is I, your hero, your hero made of steel. Ready to protect you from those ready to **** and steal...
The Woman: Who is my hero? Who is my king? Who is the one who rebukes those relentless fiends?
The Man: It is I, your faith, your faithful loving love, the Awesome God Almighty, as faithful as a dove.
The Woman: You live far away in Heaven, and I’m a country-side girl. Why do You call my name when I’m as robust as a man?
The Man: I gave you your yellow hair, the shadow of the radiant sun. I gave you your freckles, the night stars scattered on your precious face.
The Woman: I raise hens all day long, I rear pigs all day long, yet You seek me my hero, and watch me as intensely as a hawk.
The Man: I am here for you, and you exist for Me. How then can I neglect you when your heartbeats call unto Me?
I formed the mountains, and I shaped the valleys, but you I created in My likeness and for My honour.
The Woman: Surely I have nothing to offer You, a lone country girl. You own all of Heaven, where the gold’s as clear as glass.
The Man: The gold may be pure, the waters may be clear, but I could never surrender My life for them as I did for you that yesteryear.
The Woman: Don’t flutter me with words, my new found King of Steel. I have nothing to offer You as You fill my heart with joy.
The Man: You do hold something, something I deem as of great worth. It is your heart My young princess, My daughter and My love.
The Woman: You’re the Rider on the White Horse, but I’m a poor farmer on a dull mule,
*(The document ends here as it has disintegrated too far to be able to make retrieve more of the work.
It is kept in an unspecified museum.)*
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 12:19 PM UTC
Born into a world of innocence
Sifting through colors of bright.
The hazy mirage of a yellow beam
Beating softly down upon new-born skin.
Peer over the picket fence at nearby strangers
Sharing lives of baby blue paradise wrapped in freedom.
Commune with those of shared land and ideas and interests
Bearing similar corporeal, external forms of lightened complexion.
But inside, holds an unspecified, weighted form of soul
To burden and contort the body with potent strength
Pulling convulsed limbs to the polluted soil
Red tormenting glare of familiarity
Stripping with each lash of fire
Weathered skin on the sunset
Charred, buried as the night
Falls upon every measure
Every idea, every fantasy
Every revelation of love
As bones are tugged
Towards the white
Core of the Earth
And you wake up.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
Dad I loved you.
Your the only father I knew.
It should have been just us two.
Our memories are so few.
You showed me I could trust a tomcat or a puppy.
To pet him & make a buddy.
I still can't cook.
To find the right food.
Caravores are selfish, sick, & rude.
My vegan species is divided.
Separate dwellings unspecified are hided.
Recipes unconfided.
What is for lunch?
Besides rootbeer, cola, & fruit punch?
Is there no vegan chefs left?
Not enough vegan restaurants here.
Nothing close by or near.
To become extinct is something I fear.
Too many taverns with beer.
Vegan establishments this town & city needs to build.
In malls & shopping centers to be filled.
Vegans don't know where to look.
I want to write & publish a poetry book.
"Innocence Unattended" is my best work.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
feels like numb, does numb have a feeling? yeah like pins and needles, pins and needles, pins and needles. pins in your pocket and needles in your arm. looking out the crack in the wall. afraid to venture out cuz you know that the minute you do some one will slit your throat, right up behind you and give you a red smile.then where will you be? in a red river washed up dried up made of ash, gust of wind can blow you away. looking down as you float thru the air settling on roof tops making this ***** with your soot. spread so thin like butter on toast fat free and free of insects quench your thirst on this stream of words spilling out my mouth like a fountain mildly manic depressingly sober sitting on the couch drinking mud and listening to tunes emanating from the floor destination unknown physical or mentally crying for something that is not with in reach unspecified specifications
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
It's the fire, the desire which turns the tables of life,
and, It's the competitor you admire who makes this point arrive,
It's the will to achieve, to win and deceive
It's the thirst and a want to do anything you please,
It's the helplessness of mind, story of wishes unkind,
It's the urge to do better, and superior than the latter
It's the hate in the eyes, and harshness in the voice,
It's the tale of cries, It hides a failure in disguise,
It's the unknown fear, of losing from the near,
It's the blinding power you forget the dear.
It's the unspecified crave, for which sins you do grave,
It's the mind's oblivious daze, It's an unbelievable craze,
It's the rivalry in the heart, which makes close go far apart,
It's the brain unclear, which burns you in flares.
Yes. It's the fire, the desire which turns tables of life,
And, this happens when you forget,
You were meant to be the admirer not the competitor.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
This split lip will remind me
If only for a week or so
Why I don’t like romances
that cardboard box full of my books
the suitcase that contains my clothes
will only hold my life
for a few days
while I resettle
And for an unspecified, though finite
amount of time
This record will be
Broken
And repeating
Those last few lines
But years from now I will be wondering
What was it that you said?
And in the wondering I will realise
As I run a thumb over my mouth
It doesn't matter at all.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 10:35 PM UTC
I would love to release whatever unspecified mess, and display whatever inexplicable emotions erupting within my chest..
I would love to be carried away by the eerie winds of despair, whistling throughout the weathered bones of mine.
I would love to erase and disintegrate the haunting memories of past and present times.
I would love to regain innocence, and tackle the constantly inconstant clockwork of my mind.
I would love to embrace the abyss tailing the lightened end of a tunnel, leading to the lightened tunnel beyond the abyss.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
Plead guilty
For my innocence
When I am mute
I have a bad habit
Of forgetting where I am
Map of skin
Freckle islands sinking
In a pool of sweat
Salty oceans
I have no way to cross
Bridges of arms
Crumbling in uncharted waters
Mast of spine
Scoliosis of will
Tethered ligaments of indifference
Rails made of keratin
Clinging together with
Iceberg cold hands
Tearing apart
A home built
In this cave
A hollow cavern of chest
All that is left
Climbing Incan temple steps
With leviathan limbs
Up the ribcage of my back
A tower with two windows
One doorway in
I have never found a way out
Pulling vines down
Over my ears
I don't want to hear
Music anymore
A trap door tongue
Under the floorboards of my teeth
Lips nailed in submission
Captive, it won't let me out
I have no leverage
Against myself
No femur to pry
Into an iron heart
Veins and arteries wrapping themselves
Around my humourous
Metacarpal judges
Presiding over a court of ligaments
There is no connection
Cartilage sentences, unspecified
How harsh, how long
I tell you
I am innocent
Guilt tears me apart
The gavel falls
Greeting the back of my hand
Bones break
Calcium powder
Mixing with marrow
I am innocent
I am broken
I will heal
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 9:53 PM UTC
You talk of love as a commodity
something to buy or to sell
but not something for free.
I don't think that love's for me.
Love should be light
a feather pillow fight.
A freedom to be
what you want
what you see
and love should be free.
The contracts we make and the promises we break
fade away.
When love is the light that lights up our day
and fires up our night
then what is the price
what should we pay?
Love is not tied to the small print
nor does it reside in unspecified charges.
Love is open to all
it's the call of the wild when the child in you cries
and love only dies when the price is too high.
Here am I
all alone
not a love to call my own but it's out there
just waiting
and willing to share
what I have to give
wonder when love will live in my heart
wonder when I will start to feel feelings apart from my own.
All alone
I am lost
paid the price and it cost
me the Moon.
Soon
I'll be gone
will love linger on and then haunt me
will each moment of rest
come back and taunt me
last eternally.
Will I eventually find what was under my nose?
Who knows the answer?
but I'll take a chance and believe that I will
Until the day breaks and the night takes me away
Love is for free
but I always
pay in the
end.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC