"vaguer" poems
Albert Camus
Kept an Emu
Tied to a potted,
Portable wisteria
To keep him company
Whilst he kept goal
For the University of Algeria.
As Albert was fishing
The ball out
From the back of the net
The Emu mused
On the conversations they'd had
About The Oprah Winfrey Show,
The significance of suffragettes,
Adam Smith's Wealth Of Nations
And the ****** orientation
Of Sir Galahad.
Whilst discussing the plots of
The Plague and The Outsider
Warm feelings would suddenly
Well up inside her.
Why should such intellect
Elicit so much love
And even more pain?
My thoughts for this man
Aren't getting any vaguer.
Then Utrecht University
Scored again.
There are no happy endings
With Albert Camus -
Decades later he dies
In his publisher's Facel Vega.
When she heard of Albert's demise
Her initial reaction
Was hysteria
And it comes as no surprise
That a few weeks later
She died of diphtheria
Which is so much easier to do
When you're an existential emu.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
If I did go wrong more or less at once, I wonder where
The chop block decisions of grade school, when you first realize you don’t care
‘I just don’t care’ in whiney and off-pitch voices and messy drawers
Was it the first time you realized you couldn’t be perfect and so just stopped
Being
Was it sneaking on to computers and secretly learning more about life in books than your
Parents wished you to ***** things)
Or was it when you learned because you shouldn’t
And didn’t learn and didn’t learn, and that persistent bubble as you grew up got bigger and bigger
Some looming threat about your future dangled over your animal head like a carrot as you trotted through worksheet a, a-2, a-3
And exercises you could finish in two minutes or two hours and get the same grade
Or copy and get the same grade
And those grades mattered more and more, and vaguer and vaguer
And they guided you less as they shoved more in front of you and grabbed your nose to say
This is important, this is you
And your friends started laughing like lunatics as well as ********
And the first kids ended up crying in stairwells
And you slept in class?
Was it all that, or was it outside. Was it your parents admitting they weren’t happy.
Was it the first time you had to recognize dishonesty or cruelty in others
(you had long since seen it in yourself)
Was it the first time you wanted to die.
Is it now?
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
Since I don't know if we'll ever meet again-
I guess
that we'll try to stay together
forever.
"I'll tell you someday."
Laughing and sticking your tongue out,
teasing me,
you were the most beautiful then.
But-
When is that someday?
A link in the far distant future;
without any promise
or solidity.
Your back is growing fainter,
more distant,
vaguer,
quieter,
it's almost transparent now.
The fact that no matter how long my fingers were;
How much I grew;
How much I learned;
How much I matured-
The fact
that I could still not reach or touch you
or your standard;
I could do nothing
but slump to the floor,
Admit painful defeat-
And cry.
The Villain-
was me.
The one who ran away-
was me.
It was no lie,
For I am
the true deceiver.
And
I say to the plaster
peeling wall-
"I'm Sorry."
Uselessly,
Meaninglessly,
inutility,
I just sit there
in a wooden, peeling
chair;
Wondering.
*The Characters that I wrote then-
They don't dance for me anymore.*
"Is that so?"
*The poems that I scribbled-
on a napkin at a fast food restaurant,
Where are they now?*
"Who knows?"
*My memories and limits-
Are they gone?*
"Why don't you figure out yourself?
Isn't the person,
who knows you best-
yourself?"
--
--
--
I'm sorry-
My light was gone.
I'm Sorry-
My head wasn't thinking straight.
I'm Sorry-
I let go.
What kind of excuses are these?
For being a coward,
For being a shallow person
who didn't see the world-
Sorry doesn't even take up half of it.
The beginning of the end,
tell me,
when does that time come?
The promise that our naïve selves made together
"Forever, Eternally,"
You believed in those words.
For crushing your morals,
For mocking them,
For taking away your innocence-
"Forgive me."
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
Sometimes marriage is like a molten sword
in that both personages continue
being slam-hammered by hammering toward
some vague perfection vaguer hopes pursue.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 2:40 PM UTC
i got some pretty
bad blisters that
time you had cane's
for the first time
and i tried ice skating
for the first time
and we gave it some
conjugative name like
it could live on
forever or less
but nothing does
not truly
not existentially
the 7 billion billion billion
that hold each of 7 billion
are what we might call
forever or more
but only god apparently
knows where they go
because the laws of attraction
are not visible to our
poorly developed eyes
our brain like a computer
does not understand
what it hasn't seen before
but unlike a computer
forgetting is easy
remembering is hard
so let time take you
by the hand maybe
help you understand
that it never looks back
so why should you?
atoms live forever
memories fade away
whether i like it or not
i was given what you gave
i understood what i took
but history is vague
and the future is vaguer
so i stick to the present
one second at a time
keeping everything cool
staying on my grind
hope things happen soon
stay up off my mind
staring at the moon
hoping for a sign
and maybe when
my feet heal the
blisters on my
mind will too
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it's what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but it doesn't really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved.
Don't wait for something to change, you be the change.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 7:46 AM UTC
You disappoint me.
You light me up.
You freeze my bones,
And you set my soul on fire.
I want you
Just as much as I fear you
And both consume me every night
Through the haze of dreams
In which your face becomes vaguer every moment.
You hurt me,
Because you can heal everything
And you just don't.
You are my faith
Because you love me even when I fail
And you came back.
But I hate you
Because you deny me.
But I love you
Because it is in my blood.
I am in awe of you
Of us
Of how impossible it is that we mean so much
To both of us.
I scorn you, as well,
In the sad moments when my heart screams for your words
And is crushed by your silence.
This love,
It consumes me.
You consume me.
No matter how much I lose
There is always further to fall.
No matter how happy I am
It's never as ecstatic as I could be
(As I was)
In your arms.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
Brown temples
Avid, too sore for sense?
Background music, finding what will...
A look of devotion, for a tooth called suspense?
Black wishes
Turmoil is a vaguer clique
Of comment's, sigh's make God's fishes
Just a rue to understand what is...
Grey orbit's
Of miasma, found in a suggestion's field
Known by sight, a bird has wit's
Another bird has seen the sun, and it's yield
Green future's
Vicinity to unity, the poor
Is realm to ***** word's of impurity
Set amid tree's, worth their wars
White death's
Would we save a child's shadow?
Regret as hot, as marvel's lead
Meant only with yesterday's yawn, are we that we are, mellow?
May 26, 2023
May 26, 2023 at 11:04 PM UTC
An answer is seldom as long as the day,
vaguer than a whistle stop
we gathered pace
recalling that question
we thought as clever,
those fledgling time lags
have since prolonged
the prodigal quest.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 4:26 PM UTC
As they revolved
Welcoming me
Into the mechanization
The clock whispered "10.10"
All the answers
were now vaguer. Better.
AFK
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 6:01 AM UTC
“Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for twenty years. And you'll never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it's what you create. Even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but doesn't really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope for something good to come along. Something to make you feel connected, to make you feel whole, to make you feel loved. And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so ******* sad, and the truth is I've felt so ******* hurt for so ******* long and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, **** everybody. Amen.”
-Charlie Kaufman
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
a darkness alone
in the human.
where it is wrapped
in perfect peace.
perfect pleasure.
drinking its sweat
and talking its philosophy
in full detail
to itself.
-laughing.
-grinning.
swirling its ten-inch finger
around the rim
of its glass-
-it is the ringing in your head..
drunk in the cave
with spiders
walking
through
the nightmare
carrying away
the vaguer pieces
on the well defined rine
of their oil-slick backs.
nesting
and nurturing
incestuous pods
to light the walls.
to ignite the glow
of its vacant grin.
the mist swims out
and dies.
scanning your body
and watching the show
of your soul decomposing
with its ****** eyes
half open and
tasting you.
rotting the tongue
which talks in
your broken,
burnt-down
asylum of a mind.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
La chambre est ouverte au ciel bleu-turquin ;
Pas de place : des coffrets et des huches !
Dehors le mur est plein d'aristoloches
Où vibrent les gencives des lutins.
Que ce sont bien intrigues de génies
Cette dépense et ces désordres vains !
C'est la fée africaine qui fournit
La mûre, et les résilles dans les coins.
Plusieurs entrent, marraines mécontentes,
En pans de lumière dans les buffets,
Puis y restent ! le ménage s'absente
Peu sérieusement, et rien ne se fait.
Le marié a le vent qui le floue
Pendant son absence, ici, tout le temps.
Même des esprits des eaux, malfaisants
Entrent vaguer aux sphères de l'alcôve.
La nuit, l'amie oh ! la lune de miel
Cueillera leur sourire et remplira
De mille bandeaux de cuivre le ciel.
Puis ils auront affaire au malin rat.
- S'il n'arrive pas un feu follet blême,
Comme un coup de fusil, après des vêpres.
- Ô spectres saints et blancs de Bethléem,
Charmez plutôt le bleu de leur fenêtre !
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