"upping" poems
I feel like I am neurologically deficient
That a lot of my brain cells are missing
Like a punch drunk doped up punk boxer
A pimply muscle bound ***** on steroids
Hanging out at my old high school locker
No shocker that I am no medical doctor
But I always thought I’d be just a bit better
I guess on average I am a little bit smarter
But the bar is set so low that it requires
Very little to grow and go over it, you know
In comparison to the other young men
I may be grandstanding and one upping them
But when it comes to grand scheme of things
When compared to past people
Who shared my glorious dreams
Like Percy Shelley and John Keats
Like Ginsburg and the other Beats
I think I am drifting of course just a bit
Lest we all forget the **** cut the crap to fit in it
Maybe I’m okay few travel this way anyways
So who’s to say if I’m doing it the wrong or the right way
But I still feel like my brain needs a chemical treatment
A diet with more nutrients and sufficient Supplements
Because I’m feeling neurologically deficient
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
I lied when I said I could trust you again.
I lied when I said I could easily fend.
I lied when I said I was telling the truth.
I lied when I told you this was proof.
I lied when I told you he looked fine.
I lied when I told you it left with the time.
I lied when I said it was no big deal.
I lied when I told you I could give you time to heal.
I lied when I told you I was fine.
I lied when I told you I’ve never lied.
I lied when I said he wasn’t my best friend.
I lied when I told you how much time I don’t spend.
Talking to him.
I lied when I told you I was doing okay.
I lied when I didn’t lie straight to your face.
I lied when I didn’t tell you how I felt.
I lied when I was uncomfortable and didn’t tell.
I lied when I kept a straight face.
I lied when I ran past you, upping my pace.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t want to tell you.
But I’d still be lying if I wasn’t being true.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t think about you every day.
I’d be lying if I said I was okay.
With you not being here,
Not knowing why I fear.
I’m lying when I say I’m fine without you.
I’m lying when I say I’m over what I didn’t do yet.
I’m lying when I tell people I didn’t ask for advice about you.
I’m lying when I say it’s about someone else.
I’m lying when I say I don’t want to be with you.
I’m lying when I say I know you like me too.
I’m lying when I know I can’t escape.
This lying is covering me like a cape.
I’m not a liar all the time.
But I can’t stop lying,
When I tell you I’m fine.
Just to see the smile on your face.
It makes me feel better.
I’m almost okay when I see that smile.
It almost makes it all go away.
If I saw it more than once a year,
Maybe I wouldn’t have to lie about being okay.
But don't you tell me you're okay too,
Because we both know it isn't true.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
Passing judgment is subjective,
it’s in the eyes of the beholder.
You know it, don’t do it.
It goes something like you point a finger at someone
& they're four pointing back at you.
Like who makes anyone a judge & jury?
That’s right, arrogance.
It’s usually themselves,
spilling volumes about how righteous they are.
They’re what some label a smokescreen character,
a ******* flimflam artist,
holier than thou, you know the type.
They wouldn’t last ten seconds in a firefight.
Bottom line: trust no one, not even yourself.
I saw family members
give up their relatives
to make a buck.
That’s right, greenbacks.
A regular family-affair.
Imagine selling out blood for paper.
We called it a war on terror.
They called it Jihad.
It didn’t matter what anybody called it.
There was no God involved.
Just human nature & people pointing fingers.
The same old show,
the same old ****
dogs & ponies
one upping each other.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
I am analogue.
made of troughs and of peaks.
My medication offers
silence with tweaks.
I'm upping and downing,
either dreaming or drowning.
So I can't stay too long
in case something goes wrong.
First thought of the day
is of impending doom.
Rain clouds have gathered
and it pours in my room.
Later on that day,
I feel I'm okay
and I don't know why but
. . . . . I'll take it.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 5:08 PM UTC
The election is upping the antes
for a White House surrounded by shanties.
May we brace for a fall
when the winner takes all.
(*Let the other side **** in their *******
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC
Check it out I learn knowledge of self
To up my health now they movin' in stealth gainin' mental wealth
Cuz im long lasting tongue is blastin'
A million rhymes infectin' the mic right?
Ya loosin' sight ya thoughts going braille
Welcome to the 9th Gate of hell where I sail
On brainwaves my heart craves for the saves
Of hip hop not from Atlanta but a brave
These idiots crave in a rage cuz I'm turning the page
Back to the first scene of hip hop see how my tape pops
ears cropped mouths begin to drop from the rhymes that I
cop
Into ya corticals breakin' in to ya local articles full of arsenal minds a carrousel
Since I was an embyro I knew I was built for
******** a punisher
Ya fallin' way under
Evil content words laid immense never consent
To plans of a Masonic establishment
broke the lease I'm hear to visually increase
My linguistic is mathematics so have at it
Stab it and I'll break the habit
No ropes around my brain absorb the pain
Once I reclaim my domain a Pharoah to a King ?
Huh? my word sharper than a Marlin philosophize like Carlin
No short bargains bump political jargons
While y'all arguing I'm upping my mind for wisdom
To grow while others thoughts still covered up in snow....
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 12:35 AM UTC
Trying to love you
Impaling my heart on your strict demonic stare
Upping the ante in every future game
The futile roads of a hundred lovers
Etched by envy
Icicles of mass destruction
Trying to love you
Simply and completely
Simply impossible….
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
Complexity in its finest
I’m glancing between the shapes of your eyes that tell stories of history and past excursions I’ve been wanting to know
You say your eyes are just brown, but nothing is just that with you
I think, despite the simplicity in our difficult discussions
Nothing is easy they say
They, the people who’ve let us down time and time again
Its so easy to say they and create a placement test for their behavior
Destructive as it may be and deteriorating within, I am so happy blind
That they haven’t gotten all of you
And honestly if I were in your shoes and walked the 18 years to reach a destination with no map no compass no tour guide
I hope I wouldn’t be too bitter
I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy
The verge of losing humanity felt like a weight of those tons of feathers, thought to be light but gravely succumbed as much as a ton of bricks
More of them than of us
Brown just like the tan of your skin as you hope for it to be opaque but
******* ******* I’ve never been more appeased by looking at something than with you
It’s not just a body its not just the brown hair, brown skin, brown eyes, not just the shrug, eye roll, smile, laugh, pressing of lips, open mouthed, heaving, tired eyes, grinning from cheek to cheek, infinite
Like that song, I’d try to stare at you like the night sky, but you just go on and on and on and-
Looking at you or looking to the same direction via docks and benches and waterways or the caked up fingers from painting with no paintbrushes or pursed with a stick of Pall Malls, night sky scenery or early morning sunrises
**** cups of coffee make me think of you
My daily intake and I think the dosage keeps upping
I’ll sit in bathe in the sunlight reflection of how you can’t be real and none of this seems real
Between it being too much to comprehend or other things being so shallow
odds against the favor
Open and part, attempt to prepare for something crazy infinite
knowing how relationships and losing them can get
and I’m standing aboard this boat with you on it
pretending like I know the waters but honestly
Mother nature is a *****
She sends things every which way at random at last call last moment’s notice
But I’m sure if we stand close enough we won’t fall off
at least, even, we'd dive right in together
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 3:26 PM UTC
She who cannot hex, cannot heal.
She who cannot curse, cannot cure.
*She’s a sweet little thing;
a Moonflower’s paradigm
enjoying sweet isolation & silent slumber by day,
waking up to start her magick escapades
after society’s bedtime*
*Self-disciplined & at times
knavishly upping the ante
But I can guarantee you
It’s always revealed in the end
the intent she directs at you is
never anything, besides good.*
*and unannounced observers
you may catch her dancing around the kitchen at 3am,
maybe writing her Galdr spell-songs,
maybe causing mischief
with Hermes or Laverna, (as usual)
maybe testing her gifts this Völva has bound to her mane
Because for her, that’s a way better vessel than any pendant on a chain*
***And remember: When she dances,
if she shakes her hair, her power is twice obtained.***
*So if you’re hooked on schadenfreude,
Cease and desist; Please knock that **** off.
Because, at the very least,
you’ll be returned with what you’ve caused.*
*But if someone’s harming you
or you’re being hurt, but confused
whether the root of tormenting
brews with a What or a Who*
*Go ahead, take a deep breath
Dolour will be overcame
your Spirit’s to be momentarily reclaimed
the Völva’s arrived
and her prowess resides with
cures and curses alike.*
**She who cannot hex, cannot heal
She who cannot curse, cannot cure.**
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
I am nearing seventy,
my woman, has me, surpassed.
that hallmark of difference,
is a race I can’t catch her up,
so always on the lookout for ways,
ways to equalize the difference.
laying in bed on a beautiful
Tuesday, (renamed Twosday)
romantic muse-marveling how
an ordinary weekday came to be
so spectacular, the senses are
keening, preening, as the warm
loving feelings upping with sun,
rising, and my eyes welling tears,
of youthful gratefulness and love
so
I propose we get matching tattoos
to lock in this storied moment historical.
She smiles.
Stealthy moves as if to bed exit,
when with a sudden twist of fate,
reverses with one of the three pillows,
her in-bed-reading-backup-accompanists,
no pretense, she tries to beat me to near-death.
Later.
She inquires.
“What tattoo exactly did I have in mind?”
Till Death Do Us Part
(inside a heart, optional).
She snorts.
“That can be arranged, if you get more deranged!”
*from now on my passing thoughts of loving celebration,
gonna just keep on passing by, except for maybe, just,
tattoos of chocolates, a money saving device, so many
occasions useful, now you understand this poem’s entitlement.*
Ogdiddynash
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 10:08 AM UTC
*i'm not pretentious, latin is dead,
church or society latin with it too...
ungrammatical latin is perfect
in whatever usage... does not desire
grammar schools... i know my latin
is awkward... the imperial march # Vivaldi...
oops upping a weather balloon and then
it rained and shined...*
see, it appeases the crowd, who wish to congregate, while i only wish to take a **** it’s like the church sent them and i was a peasant for easy ha ha... i’d easily eat them than ha ha... to easily forget it was your heart i was eating an not my ow item of addiction; nonetheless it made opera and caffeine a cherished return to, where whiskey replaced wine for all that dizziness required for a second life.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 7:30 PM UTC
It's about loving what you do for being who you are, tooting your own horn to celebrate yourself as you tumble out of your blog right on your Facebook. It's all about the you in you showcasing your own self to show what you got and prove why you're the star. The next big thing in social media: it's so over now. The new platform was old hat before you even upped the stats while tipping your hat to the old social platforms. Why? Content. It's all about posting original content so you can get caught in your social media network, haul yourself to shore, and fillet yourself on Twitter. It's about drinking outside of the box, parked, with a beer on your dashboard. Upping the stat-check until the chat stacks its own status update without you. It's about getting the apps BEFORE they are released so you get in on the ground floor as they leap from the burning upper levels. It's about following yourself until they know that you know that the blind are leading the ditch-diggers to water. Work smart, fish smart, let the net do the work as you socially engage the fish community on social media.
-- Facebook boosted ads is where it’s at in posted social advertising.
-- Instagram is a serious branding tool for brands of any kind, especially for ranch-hands of free-range cattle, cowboys and indian tech gurus.
-- Boosted posts do well if you want posts to boost more frequently than existing fans or their friends.
--You know your In-platform ad tracking analytics are top-notch when your train leaves without you from Big Six platform.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC
upping the umami, the fifth taste
“Umami is the last-to-be discovered fifth basic taste, along with sweet, sour, bitter, and salty, and triggers a distinct class of taste receptors on the tongue. ... The most notorious (and often unjustifiably maligned) source of umami is monosodium glutamate (MSG), the sodium salt of a naturally-occurring amino acid.”
a chicken soup recipe^ says it’s time,
time to up the umami,
me-the-no-cook is sidelined and intrigued,
then taken to another place
sweet, sour, bitter and salty
are the tastes of you life,
but it’s time to up the game
release the amino acids of my fingers
into her body, the tasting menu scrapped,
go direct to the boardwalk hotel,
railroad her unto my jail,
teach and share the notorious
fifth perception of loves taste,
the elixir of our combinatory sensationalism
————-
The Best Chicken Soup with Rice, Carrots, and Kale
Saveur
Tomato paste and fish sauce add depth and umami to our best-ever chicken-and-rice soup studded with sweet carrots and silky kale.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 1:37 PM UTC
The Name's Selcæiös N.V. Witega
The N.V.'ll only **** you if you're a curious cat.
Your Tech-Age Völva
Onliest Healer
Avant-garde Seeress
& Upping the Ante
Once under my Wing
--a Sui Generis sorta catalyst
But take note,
I'm only here for your healing
---and occasionally to quench the thirst
for all types of Second Sight
weaving, seething, and
any and all other appealing witchy hype
And this niche in the Craft
Contingently consecrates
--you know. when it rains, it pours--
the Superseding of Spirit;
Under the Utopia of Unorthodox Psychotomimetic Wonders
enthralled by your scintillating mishap to wander
Gracefully falling face-first into
The Empath's Curse
in other words, to come to terms with Sonder
Dyed in the wool
lies the
Fluorescent & Incanting Sparks
of the
out-of-place-even-for-you
outre wanders
To me though,
It's vividly violent & evincing
Capitulated roars,
Sequestered howls,
Once Upon a Time
the proud growls morphed
to crying whines
'Carpe Omnis Scintilla'
In Perpetuum,
to no avail.
Your Sui Generis Hedge-Rider
Call me Selaecios N.V.
or Selcaeia, if you like
the sting of serpentine strides
I'll proudly continue to
uphold this chaotically labile path
as it's my Labyrinthine Rite
Taking under Wing
Protecting & Defending
Fellow Humans & Spirits alike.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 5:49 AM UTC
An ant based society
may lack variety
they work to the beat
of six tiny feet
but they all get to eat
ants don't hold elections
that lead to insurrection
an ant inspired riot
would be extremely quiet
Jan 8, 2021
Jan 8, 2021 at 5:17 AM UTC
I've been using you as a painkiller.
You're very effective.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
Street sampling word, pierced on its side...
work zone cones the wickedest witch
cruel-worlds under.
Cab meters left running,
ante upping ante.
Wheatpaste wars boom-blocking,
moonlighting black
gum splotches under years of feet.
Millions of ways of home, trample-trials in this
stink-thick Dutch settlement.
Where faint of hearts get blown in handkerchiefs,
and the court jester plays his head in the face of the fallen.
Where plastic bags fill trees, like women with hair rollers
screaming at children to come inside before nightfall.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
Dripping, Dripping
It's all gone
Draining, Falling
As I whisper my song
Sliding down
To the tip
From my knife
Blood does drip
Walking away
My footprints red
Splashing in puddles
That flow from your head
Like a young child
Playing in rain
I assure you sir
I'm perfectly sane
In fact, just maybe
I'm more sane then you
I simply see the world
In a darker hue
Red, black and grey
To be perfectly clear
And that bright red
Always brings a sneer
So I'll dance through puddles
Like a child in rain
Pretty red puddles
Brought by others pain
This world is so dark
So corrupt and unkind
How should anyone
Be able to keep their mind
But I tell you now sir
There is nothing wrong
With the violent words
In my ****** sweet song
This smile on my face
I swear it is real
I have no reason to hide
No reason to conceal
This body at my feet
He was only a toy
Oh, I loved the screams
Of that poor little boy
This world is rotten
So why do you care
How many humans
I ****** and ensnare
Death is natural
I'm just speeding it up
I don't care what weapon
I can even use a cup
Look at the red blood
A thick crimson ocean
And all it requires
Is a quick killing motion
I'm totally sane
My logic is true
But all humans fear
The strange and the new
Why so shocked
Your face has gone green
Does the blood make you sick
Do you wish it unseen
This world is gone
Already doomed to die
So why does one death
Make you cry
I can **** you to
If that's what you want
Uh oh, to late
Hope that's what you sought
My knife in your gut
The blood coming out
You should be happy
Don't frown and pout
Your life is fading
I see it in your eye
I pull my blade out
And wave a goodbye
This world is dying
I'm just upping the pace
Why prolong
Our fading into space
And to most it's a crime
But I won't feel bad
Not if as I do it
There is fun to be had
Because why not enjoy it
The cries and the pain
When from the bloodshed
There's a smile to gain
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
Tonight I can't sleep because
I think I can feel my heartbeat in the bottoms of my socks
so I started a list on the back of my prescription because
a paper is just a paper, even one that documents my
unplanned mental tics and the fact that my body doesn't always
do what it's supposed to do to keep me functioning, but I don't really care about that anymore
I don't really care that much because I'm too busy looking after you and I know it's a long shot under terrible conditions and I know you were never looking for anything and that time isn't one of those neatly packaged things
tied together with a ribbon
but in the end, I hope that we don't spoil this
I want to see you happy I just want to see you bloom
and it's funny I'm pretty sure I've never
stayed up this late before for a reason that even remotely mattered but it's different now, it's different because you do
you're over there and you're keeping it going until the timer runs out
and I don't think you know but I'm not just high on caffeine
I'm having nightmares about finding you in your bedroom not breathing
and I really need to do something
I need to be there to make this less surreal, I need my brain
to work in whole pictures and not just doing shots of adrenaline pumping
cortisol into my system always upping my dose right after I leave you
but of course, everything kind of feels like that on this kind of a night
kind of like chewing on glass and pulling my skin off
everything kind of feels like that when I think of losing you.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 2:19 AM UTC
Being the ears
that listens
than the mouth
that speaks
I find how insignificant
we are all to each other
I find not one worry
in any of the names
that they mention
just "Me, Myself, and I"
and every lie in between
I find it humorous
how the world revolves
in every one-upping
as everyone speaks
in competition
and I quietly sit there
with a smile
in every comment
just waiting for a turn
to be listened
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
Your love is *****
Your body is cheap
Your disease is the sickness that i desperately need
I cannot be free
I cannot be well
I want to die with you at the bottom of this hell
I dont need your fears
I dont need your ire
I need to feel from the inside your greatest desires
Enslave and enrage me
Confuse and conflate me
Keep upping the pace of this maddening race
Id do anything if it meant that youd save me a place
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 12:56 PM UTC
Politicians,political Billies
vote for blobby and mr silly,
Filibusters ****** speeches
Grab your money,sucking leeches
If you don't no whom to vote
Put your cross on Mcgintys goat.
Immigration,100 billion pounds
We are Europe as daft as it sounds,
Little America to be ruled by trump
UKIP has made us a national chump
I'm not voting I'm going to abstain
Not upping sticks or moving to Spain.
National insurance number that's who we our
So vote for noddy in his little red car.
Political nonsense democratic farce
Carry on voting we'll cross my ****
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 7:27 PM UTC
i have an idea.
it's called: growing.
i think i used to write only when i was sick
and then i started getting better and worried i was
getting too good to create
i went through a long grieving process with
my depressed art
i thought i would never pick up a pen again
i thought i would stay sober and flare up free for a while
well, looks like i'm wrong about a lot of things
i started testosterone since i got better
i have a doctor appointment next week in which i will ask about
top surgery, upping my dose, and moving forward
with a name change
i've grown, god **** but i've fallen too.
i've grown so much i lost my roots
but i've grown so much i learned to plant new ones
i learned that sobriety doesn't end when you're ill
it actually begins at that moment you know you are so
much
better
than
that.
and wow kid, you had a birthday.
and you had a good thanksgiving
and you picked up a pen and drew.
and here you are writing ******* word after word afterword.
you're doing it.
and you're going to continue to do it.
i love you.
Dec 2, 2019
Dec 2, 2019 at 10:31 PM UTC
She waited for him under the bridge;
The cold, cold night throwing threats her way-
Threats to freeze her to death,
Threats to keep her lover at bay.
But never losing her faith in him,
She kept on awaiting his arrival.
Once or twice had headlights illuminated her,
Upping her hopes and the beating of her heart.
But there was still no sign of him-
Him, the one she'd sworn to love for life.
Then suddenly, and all of a sudden,
She heard the rustling of leaves behind her.
Scared, she took back a step or two,
Afraid it was someone who would hurt her.
But out of the woods came he-
Running, panting, out of breath.
She wanted to know what was wrong;
She needed an explanation.
Instead he took her arm and ****** her on,
Then into a boat nearby.
The still waters, though, were never a good hideout;
Even the most silent of fish could be heard.
Scared, raging, she let him row on,
For she too, wanted to get away-
Away from the town that disapproved,
Away from the thousand pairs of eyes,
Away from the prying neighbours,
And away from the noise and the crowd.
The silence was something she'd learned to appreciate;
But never before had it been so piercing,
Never before had it threatened her life,
Never before had it made itself heard.
And it was then that she heard the gunshot-
Piercing through the silence,
Piercing through the night,
Piercing through the wind,
And piercing her lover's heart.
She screamed, then sensed danger,
And then the second one came.
She gasped and she choked,
And she cursed her lover's enemy.
Then the peace settled in,
When she thought about her lover;
How she'd be entangled in his arms,
Prying on the thousand pairs of eyes from above...
Mar 3, 2021
Mar 3, 2021 at 3:28 AM UTC