"unteachable" poems
How can I reach the unreachable..
teach the unteachable who's comprehension is unbelieveable
But the fact is unbelief is more than lack of knowledge..
Cause the truth is even Satan knows who God is..
Is it blindness...
truth on deaf ears..
the embracing of silence..
should there be surpises ..
when behind your eyelids enter a random act of violence..
A vision of darkness ..there's no light that why the pupils dilate the use of the iris..
But when use to darkness and the lights hits one close their eyelids..
I.e. Christ the truth the way the light..
Being unsaved is like living in the womb..
Darkness equivalent to that of a tomb..
Flashes of light is like labor contractions..
The unknown conviction hinting..
Considered a distraction..
Pushed out now watch the eyes reaction..
To the light cause from darkness there's a detachment..
If given a chance a adjustment happens..
An embracement of the light..
A rebirth Christ in action.
How can i reach the unreachable..teach the unteachable ..
With a script the director unknown Its more than the shout of action..
Living life like a movie unaware that the villains not acting..
Now could u imagine..
A movie set full of madness..
All the cast dead like really dead from a stabbing..
No equalizer the villain the only one left standing..
You may say excuse me..
Life is not a movie.
Truly
But a witness not performing there duty..is bystander..
No innocence exist...
No bliss in ignorance...
.Cause we all birth into sin.
So many questions with wrong answers given like the truth don't exist....
How can I reach the unreachable
teach the unteachable
who I tell to this body of Christ they should enlist
But when a pass is given and the shot is missed..
It negates the assist..
A reason for the lost of the game..
The thought of a lost soul has me ******
I'm the point guard I help the scorer sustain..
Chris Paul with rock which is the gospel..
Passing the truth like Paul the apostle ..
Too many people out for a win like Christ didn't settle the score...
Adam severed the relationship but Christ rebuilt the rapport...
I am trying to reach and teach but there's no trust any more...
Pointing u in the direction of accepting the Lord..,
Embrace the word of God that double edge sword..
Them cuts is conviction..
The sword swinging is What it means to be a witness..
Led by the spirit A Christian
Yes we are made in Gods image..
Trying to reach every soul because the wins and losses count..
Life is not a scrimmage..
How can one soul have a blemish..
Only dirt that can touch the soul is the ***** hands of sinning..
How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable..Who mistakes knowledge for ignorance...
And reject truth because arrogance..
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
Mother, mother, what ill-bred aunt
Or what disfigured and unsightly
Cousin did you so unwisely keep
Unasked to my christening, that she
Sent these ladies in her stead
With heads like darning-eggs to nod
And nod and nod at foot and head
And at the left side of my crib?
Mother, who made to order stories
Of Mixie Blackshort the heroic bear,
Mother, whose witches always, always
Got baked into gingerbread, I wonder
Whether you saw them, whether you said
Words to rid me of those three ladies
Nodding by night around my bed,
Mouthless, eyeless, with stitched bald head.
In the hurricane, when father's twelve
Study windows bellied in
Like bubbles about to break, you fed
My brother and me cookies and Ovaltine
And helped the two of us to choir:
'Thor is angry; boom boom boom!
Thor is angry: we don't care!'
But those ladies broke the panes.
When on tiptoe the schoolgirls danced,
Blinking flashlights like fireflies
And singing the glowworm song, I could
Not lift a foot in the twinkle-dress
But, heavy-footed, stood aside
In the shadow cast by my dismal-headed
Godmothers, and you cried and cried:
And the shadow stretched, the lights went out.
Mother, you sent me to piano lessons
And praised my arabesques and trills
Although each teacher found my touch
Oddly wooden in spite of scales
And the hours of practicing, my ear
Tone-deaf and yes, unteachable.
I learned, I learned, I learned elsewhere,
From muses unhired by you, dear mother.
I woke one day to see you, mother,
Floating above me in bluest air
On a green balloon bright with a million
Flowers and bluebirds that never were
Never, never, found anywhere.
But the little planet bobbed away
Like a soap-bubble as you called: Come here!
And I faced my traveling companions.
Day now, night now, at head, side, feet,
They stand their vigil in gowns of stone,
Faces blank as the day I was born.
Their shadows long in the setting sun
That never brightens or goes down.
And this is the kingdom you bore me to,
Mother, mother. But no frown of mine
Will betray the company I keep.
3.9k
I've started a habit, I ignore the best of advice.
I see the gold but I can't reach out and grab it.
My chances lost, thrown away, life doesn't suffice anymore.
Just shouting at the god that has ****** me!!
**** it!! He strikes me, smites me, I can't fight back and he bites me.
Self belief burned and buried, self esteem shot down and slowly drowned.
The power I crave is unteachable, untouchable, unreachable and unbearable.
I have such foolish ambitions and desires.
Never to have greatness and my helpless soul is on fire.
Duck, drop and roll, send me to the poles to freeze, please!!
Reduced to begging, I'm a disgrace, you better take that ugly grin off your face.
I'll continue to flow It like a poet so that you feel my self loathing.
I turn on the TV and look at the news, It's not good apparently.
The whole world's becoming a zoo, It's so true.
And guess what! The sky's not even blue, It's red!!
No wait; thats just the pain in my head, pain from exaustion, or maybe just hunger.
Life's a mess.
I need to get this crippling weight off my chest, can you help me?
Force the world off my chest, then I'll carry it on my shoulders.
Gonna live like this until my fragmenting fragments are broken.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 2:59 AM UTC
Like old
mean beetles,
like old
men in battle,
like egos: solid anvils,
like families: lethal weapons,
like these: them,
begotten sons
who begat daughters
of a land, of a bordered plot
on the globe, the dirt,
the house, the property
which begot
them
both,
these two
bitter enemies
from two
separate places,
furiously blaze,
as the time
for darkness,
is far
from arrived.
And the sun
quakes,
in its heat
rippling sights
and
knocking particles,
which deter the next
knocked,
and which enforce
the continued sensation of
warmth
continued,
of aversion
continued,
rising,
screened,
for its impeccable quality,
against
nobody in
general or
specific
to announce, or to gain
against
consequences, which are
soothsaid
in time,
nullified.
Partners afflicted will be less opportunistic
and more egalitarian,
but are sworn,
like the sun,
against the monotony,
of repetition,
of indistinct days;
like these:
them,
the enemies,
they
are
engaged,
aged,
unteachable
and
spoiled.
They are always
immersed
in
vexed
states,
always in competition.
Hope
is
the
souls
united
never again
as much
as the static,
single dimension,
alone,
impeccable,
impossible,
for its possibility
is drawn by He
who
spews forth
lumens
next to card sharks and Amazons, knowing these
will have to suffice, having no escape
from the projected
source
of energy.
The metal heads
of garden rakes,
weapons
thrown
at devils
in the sweltering heat
of hell,
the Inferno
that holds a
first-person
point of view,
a dream, alongside
superheroes, allied,
but who are,
nevertheless,
without their unique
and exceptional powers,
pros and willing deviants
from the celibacy,
the weight,
the unoriginal paint
that collides
in
each
stroke,
making what
appears
null,
and the array
but one,
and supposed,
so that then
are the weary
and soulful mergers
which corrupt
and meander throughout,
polluting,
as
it
were,
the tranquility,
the wrenched service,
of the destined
machine,
of a million
trajectories,
homespun threads,
woven
into
a
million
miserable
microfibers,
unanswered
queries
that were
held back
in
fear,
and
were
never
asked,
and remain
even
now
sorry.
Jan 17, 2010
Jan 17, 2010 at 7:49 AM UTC
i can Imagen the endless potential of my world
free of knowing "my place"
no boring old broken time machines
just open white space
hungry for fresh ideas and experiments
this is my dream, my desire, my hope
me rid of this stupid wrong labelled box
just me, Karin, just Karin
i don't like this world i was born into
it praised cowards and anoint liars
crucify truth speakers and freedom fighters
real leaders are played down and ridiculed
they promote brainless followers, zombies
all for love of money and power
" see i can squash you"
just try and breath without permission
my box is labeled ****** gull-able joke, incapable, stupid, unteachable, bad writer and much much more
i want to be free of this box
it's killing me slowly, ******* my bones dry
i peek out
- blue swollen eyes
- broken bones
- crushed soul
someday. . . .
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
And for your love
and the romance
of our lives
I've decided to
attempt dancing
and all the glories
that come along.
For, this romance isn't
the aroma of accordion music
filling the Paris streets at nighttime,
while a couple dances
under the streetlights,
as rain begins to fall.
It's a romance about humanity
and desire and its heartache
that tries to tango in the suburbs
and tap in the slums,
whose clumsy movements cause
embarrassment for any party involved.
This love has a rhythm unlike
a big band hit or a bluegrass hand-clapper.
It has a rhythm all of its own.
Closest to, maybe, jazz.
The real jazz. The Harlem jazz.
Sparatic and unpredictable.
Upbeat, swinging cymbals and trumpets.
Then a slow sax,
with bluesy vocals crying out in pain.
Because you can't two step
or foxtrot
or tango
to that.
You must step carefully.
For this romance is fragile.
You cannot choreograph in advance
or synchronize moves
with your lovers'.
You simply must listen, feel, and move.
This dance of love
must cause you to cry
and smile
and melt
and ache
and desire to make love
all in the same motion.
Or it's not love.
It's an imitation
aimed at the beautiful and elegant.
And we aren't that.
We're humans with souls and flaws
who desire these false
motions and harmonies
of love,
but who need to still understand
love's true tender
and heartbreaking steps
that have no
recognizable rhythm,
but that promise
a lifetime of love.
So, I will not learn
love's romantic moves
for they are unteachable,
but I will attempt,
for your love
and romance,
my dear,
to sway to the music
and stay beside you
and follow your lead
as we wait for the
drums and the horns-
and the music to begin.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
What is choice?
I did not decide
to meet you.
What is fate?
Could I have been destined
to need you?
Can there be
no maybes?
No gray
between black
and
white --
(Abyss between the cliffs,
the nothing between everything)
-- Only "will," and "won't,"
never "might."
My mother, my brother:
Is it fate the love they give me,
and choice I hand it back?
Is it unteachable, unbreakable,
the bond within a pack?
And what of love found later on
that seems of greater worth?
Could the prophetic mistress, Fate,
grow this love and that at birth?
Is it only fate to love the ones
you?
raised
Who
And choice to love the one
you?
lifts
Who
So is it choice or is it fate?
There can be nothing in between.
Yet somehow,
though I did not choose to meet you,
or fall in love that day,
I would not have it another way.
No in between...?
I feel I have found the gray,
the twilight between night and day,
the little nothings in the everything
that make it all worthwhile.
It's in between introductions
and forever spent together
It's in between the sheets,
the covers of an album.
It's in between our smiles.
The in between is what we love --
What we live--
-- Whether choice or fate --
It's the bridge over abyss.
It's the love that stops your falling.
A second, a year, a look, a kiss.
This idea of choice, of fate,
it's unimportant, obsolete.
It matters only
What lies in between.
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 4:15 PM UTC
she said:
*you are a man knowing cruel, knowing hard,
with strangest soft skin, a funny way of talking,
lick my face with your words so I’ll learn,
to be tough and tender too, this I want, wanted*
he replied:
**life gave me splinters, broken from rough edges,
left under my exterior to fester, blister, and scar,
life licked my face, taught me mean, and the words
that came with that, were sand papered on my skin**
she answered:
*I’m not blind, I can feel, smell your contradictories,
want your antibodies in my blood, survival skills,
to be what I am not, and keep too, what I’ve got, to
be infected and protected, knowing words defensive*
he listened:
**what you desire, is the health that comes after,
after what you don’t understand, until you’ve
loved, lost, been beaten down so that getting up is
miraculous, this unteachable, this licking by words**
she insisted:
*your arrhythmic rhymes, skinflint perspectives,
this is what I ask, what I need, what you can give,
what is in your possess, what you need to unburden,
making me better for making you lessened*
he wept:
and said nothing.
for nothing taught appreciating silence and that,
***was the beginning,
of what she wanted,
of what he did not,
of what he gives reluctantly***
8:16AM
Wed May 20
Isle of Mind
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 8:26 AM UTC
I need sunshine, I need rain,
I need love and I need puppies,
I need flowers and I need bees,
I need passion, don't you ever forget it,
but it probably will be forgot,
it always is.
I need a clear mind and fresh air to breathe,
I need sort of normality, but sometimes complexity,
I can be complex,
awkward at times,
You see, I actually know the real me,
I need touch, but not too intimately,
I'm a being with feelings,
I don't need, to walk on my own,
through the pouring rain,
I need you to hold an umbrella for me,
hold it high over my head.
I don't really need umbrellas,
I hate them, they drive me insane,
I told you, I am awkward.
I'm pretty unreachable,
very unteachable,
stubborn,
feisty,
and so very quiet at times.
In the pharmacy,
I found, tens machines for those in pain,
some say they work, others just laugh,
tell me I'm having a freaking giraffe,
Looked closer, I really did,
astonished at what was on offer,
What did I find?
Electronic gadgets for spot removal,
a prolific acne remover,
kind of reminded me of Wily Coyote,
with all his" acme patented", road runner beating devices,
Something conjured from cartoons,
perhaps,
another one for removal of ulcers in mouths,
Well I just don't know,
I'm not perfect,
I have my flaws,
more than most in fact,
but I need no electronic gadgets.
Have more to spend my money on,
and that's an absolute fact!
(c) Livvi
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 8:02 AM UTC
I remember
the deserved reprimand
it reminds me
of the dearly departed
my mother and my dad
thus
I thankfully treasure
the unreachable hand
rebuke
the unteachable mind.
Mar 8, 2022
Mar 8, 2022 at 3:51 PM UTC
Why are my dreams unreachable?
And everything to learn's unteachable?
What I want I can't get,
And I can't even try yet!
You always tell me to organize my time,
But number one on your list,
Is different than mine.
"What happens to a dream deferred,
does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?"
Yes I think,
If that means the dream is done.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 1:31 AM UTC
you are the hottest summer day
it is your tie that makes you sweat in May
They say it is too hot in here
But for me it’s moderate
You said you love William Blake
But that’s too hard for me to understand
And you could sing me a serenade
But you could never love me back.
His brows spread like hawked in Sierra
His eyes streams like river
He glows like sun in Arizona
Sorry for my poor metaphor
What if I could write for you
The sweetest poems you’ve ever read
It won’t make any big difference
Sorry for my sad attempt
Now that you have made up your mind
You tell me that I’m unteachable
And I could recite you William Blake
But you could never love me back
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
They watched as she tried
and they laughed as she cried.
Saying the shadow girl would never be quite as good as the best.
She lives in a shadow set by a 5'10 star
who talked through a method unteachable.
She talked through a ball, a court, and a shot.
One that the county has still not forgot.
Then appeared a little shadow
who wanted to make a name for herself.
But the season came
along with the shame,
because the method was not taught to the shadow.
She dreamed of a day
when her name would be known.
And she'd no longer be a shadow.
But no one else sees how she truly feels.
And so it seems
she'll always be...
the shadow girl.
May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 5:59 PM UTC
What is Talent? What is ambition? What is love?
What is a gift bestowed from the depths of the universe,
an unteachable knack naturally nurtured since birth
without ambition?
What is the point of draining all your soul
your shortage of time
all of your might
to a gift if it
doesn't make your mind a better place to live in?
What is talent in the absence of ambition but the worst.
But talent and ambition in the absence of love is but a curse.
For what is anything without happiness?
Talent + ambition + love = success
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 8:52 AM UTC
To crawl, the impossible crawl
to swear, the most swearable curse
to bear all the ******** they throw us
and not, leave the place in a hearse
To nod, when you just want to punch
to eat, every snack that you see
to cry, when you misplace a pencil
or meltdown when you can’t find your keys
This is our quest!
To get to the end!
Without killing a colleague,
or upsetting our friends
To still teach fractious kids
without question or pause
to stride strong into period 5
without breaking some laws
And I know that the end is in sight
so I’ll bite my lip
late July will be peaceful and calm
with a big gin to sip
And the future will not be so bad
to our heart and skills we affirm
September we’ll all start again
but for now we consign to the past
the unteachable term
Jun 16, 2021
Jun 16, 2021 at 1:08 PM UTC
I’m so tired of being me
Tired of feeling to much, too much love, too much hate, too much of my own body
When the tears you cry itch and burn and every emotion you feel makes your stomach churn
Tired …
Tired of caring to much, it’s exhausting
When social interactions cost all your rations and a hug can trigger enough to lead to regrettable actions
When crumbs on the floor stick, make you sick feeling engulfed in waves of unease it’s unappealing
To be me…
To be me and hate every inch of your being
To be me and live with all my neurosis
To itch and scratch In your brain and in your veins the unreachable unteachable tendrils that sliver
To be me is to be tired
To be tired is to be
Human.
Apr 14, 2024
Apr 14, 2024 at 11:31 PM UTC
More important than learning, is being able to teach.
Who taught you? That learning is essential in ones life to begin with?
If you say "yourself" than you're just full of it.....
Nonetheless, there is certain struggles that we encounter in life, then we surpass them, and you did it all yourself.... yada, yada, yada....
Though sometimes we forget....
This is why! we remember...
Its not you, nor, is it me....
Its not him, nor, her....
Its not them, nor, they....
IT.... is....... us......
Anytime you blame the world.....
Blame yourself aswell.....
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 2:14 PM UTC
Geocentric conscious shrouds
Revolve around illusion clouds
To find the stars
We search the earth
And watch our suns die out from birth
Red giant idealistic youth
Pursuing supernova truth
Ambitions of
Infinite space
In time dark matters shall erase
No solace in maturity
Just rise and fall obscurity
Alone out here
Burning to show
The universe how bright you glow
Revelations of these fusions
Conflagrations of delusions
To bugs racing
Towards the end
Diminishing the light you lend
Horizons never reachable
Your energies unteachable
Nebulous
Dreams come to pass
Unfulfilled old ball of gas
Life stages shrinking us sequential
Makes quasars of our potential
Growing cold
In voids bereft
Until black holes are all that's left
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 2:17 AM UTC