"vexes" poems
Resuscitate our dead memories only just to die again;
Waking from a deep slumber, Staring out the window pane;
Counting hours, how long can I endure the need to restrain?;
Nothing have changed I should just get back to sleep again.
The sun rises slowly as it burns my pale tainted skin;
It just felt so good just to feel pain! For so long I've been so keen;
I grew weak in my dreams when I'm asleep, the thoughts of you makes me sick!
It's not that you vexes me, It's because of what I did to you that worries me;
Never before I have felt so sensitive within this lifeless body...
Lived only by drinking blood! To be confined in this coffin just to feel lonely!
And then you came... The one I thought who restrained the beast in me;
The one who gave warmth not burning me, calmed my soulless fury.
But we must all know that the nature has its way of breaking;
Something that is beautiful, Something profound! A new beginning...
And so it came to that point where I fed on her! left her dying!
Perhaps it was all meant to be for a while just to forget the craving...
I'm a killer, a monster! An abomination to this world!
But I can't take my life...Believe me I tried!
I bathed under the sun turn to ashes and died!
Only to know that when darkness falls I'll be revived...
I must make a choice... It fancies me just having this thoughts right now;
What could I possibly do?If the beast within is the one who contains me and how?
It seems like a personal attraction just to add some satisfaction as I reach for the ****
A little drama, show some masked humanity, make them live a little just to quench the thrill!
I have glared, I have grinned, I have laughed and I have seduced...
As I get closer for my teeth to sink in, let loose, let the hunger reduced;
But after the feed do I feel remorse? For hours I thought I did...
It's been like that through all the years... Feels redundant indeed.
So how far will this story goes? For centuries I have pondered in circles.
I have been there the evolution, the changes, the life as it cycles.
And again...Here and now as I stand where once I become capable staring at the sun;
I will forget the unforgettable, sail away! Far away from this land...
Remember my story as it will never end;
I'm finding a way now to break free from this curse;
To be one with my prey walk free no more blood to quench thirst;
So long and goodbye from me Dracula...
Serenity is what I seek...A redemption of what they speak.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
It vexes me
How everytime I wear makeup
They ask in a sing-song voice who I'm trying to impress
as if I can't just wear it for myself
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
I shake awake in the sleep…
The invisible dialogues, unable
to distinguish from darkness
vexes me...
I have heard the sob of the horn bill of the freedom
throughout the half broken dreams…
you also may blame me like my mother
that it’s because not pray to God when I go to bed…
For how many ‘freedoms’
I've been kept decorated
in the living room?
the fishes in aquariums
are not the beauty kept in the glass pots
but freedom closed in the glass…
While the fishes argue that
the three quarter of the world has made for them,
looking towards the open canopy of freedom,
the love birds, quibble me from the cages
that what I caged is the word of ‘freedom’ itself.
Doubtlessly, creating Auschwitz cells in living rooms
how can I speak about the freedom?
Having exempted the birds towards canopy of indulgence
the fishes to the sea of the rights,
I went to fly in the freedom of sleep
forgetting to pray to God…
then, I know
the birds from the canopy of indulgence
and the fishes from the sea of the rights,
are praying God for the sake of me…
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
“How important it is to walk along, not in haste but slowly,
looking at everything and calling out
Yes! No!”
–Mary Oliver, “Yes! No!”
1.
The coils of this labyrinth remind me of the small intestine. This vexes me. Walking the labyrinth is supposed to be a spiritual experience, isn’t it? Neither time nor place for unlovely images of the body. The truth is that I dislike the labyrinth. I find it too constraining, too tedious—all these looping, repetitive coils. The truth is that I hate the labyrinth because it is pale and remote, and silently indifferent to me. If I am going to engage with something, I’d like for it to talk back, please. I have questions, you know. I have some concerns. And perhaps just one or two small issues with control, and delayed gratification.
2.
“I think serenity is not something you just find in the world, like a plum tree,
holding up its white petals” (Mary Oliver, “Yes! No!”).
3.
“Watch how we encounter each other,” you say, and we walk, slowly, separately. Around one turn we meet, and you kiss me, and your tongue is muscular and wet. Around another turn you say, over your shoulder, “Hello,” and continue walking. It is hard for me to keep my balance even though the path is smooth and flat. I feel like we are in a Magritte painting. Your white shirt glows softly somewhere to the left of my awareness. A voice not connected to your body says, “Do you like my hat?” We are walking. We are together. We are not together.
4.
“Imagination is better than a sharp instrument. To pay attention, this is our endless
and proper work” (Mary Oliver, “Yes! No!”).
5.
So now:
Quiet, quiet—the darkness is full.
Your skin is listening
to the night air.
In the center of the labyrinth, someone has placed a gift.
Quiet, quiet—someone is telling you a story.
The oldest story in the world, and his body hums and pulses
under your fingers.
In the center, there is a gift.
Quiet, quiet—this is not walking.
This is surrendering to the path, your body long and outstretched
against the stones.
In the center, someone has placed a gift.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 12:02 PM UTC
A question carries me, scorching shores
in a blazing trail.
A question vexes me and provokes my
interest.
How do we come to know the unknownable?
Should our faculties prove enough or should we
push ourselves to venture further and further?
Into the deep unknown we travel
where a flicker of wild eyes lurk.
Should the story terrify me,
would my thought comfort me?
In moonlight's shadow the tale begins
on shores of gold my tale will end.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 4:14 PM UTC
*The vividest viridian, the variety,
An orange vinaigrette,
Vexes her.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
With each reach I am further away than I hoped.
Clawing desperately at walls of mud.
Foiled by the viscosity of fools.
No matter how hard I try to escape the solitude it haunts me still.
Looming over me like a cowl adhered to my skull.
Comforting is its presence.
Complex are it’s vexes.
Is it the walls or my skin that take the brunt of my aggression?
Is it outward or all within?
Could it be that the darkness is my only friend?
The only thing that remains.
All my efforts are in vain.
All my transgressions explained.
My thoughts are all insane.
But here in the depth I can escape the pain.
So here I shall remain.
Filled with more of the same.
Questions unexplored… a bane.
Sep 16, 2020
Sep 16, 2020 at 7:55 PM UTC
With such compelling cause to grieve
As daily vexes household peace,
And chains regret to his decease,
How dare we keep our Christmas-eve;
Which brings no more a welcome guest
To enrich the threshold of the night
With shower'd largess of delight
In dance and song and game and jest?
Yet go, and while the holly boughs
Entwine the cold baptismal font,
Make one wreath more for Use and Wont,
That guard the portals of the house;
Old sisters of a day gone by,
Gray nurses, loving nothing new;
Why should they miss their yearly due
Before their time? They too will die.
1.2k
Somewhere something menacing is happening
Overtaking the mind cantankerous me, here inside the apartment. No longer making plans, exciting friends, hosting
anything
More than a before noon call to maintenance or planned visit from someone else’s friend- concocted thirteen months ago. What has made them so afraid to ever allow themselves to enjoy, the chance at sour or sweet, umami, or something in between vexes these feet under-beat.
Seemingly never to trammel a midnight sidewalk or sweaty cramped R&B/Soul Dance party.
some third floor walk up
4:00a.m.
stranger’s unfurnished creative space
Friday untied to Monday
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 11:45 PM UTC
I had a nightmare of you
You will never leave my house
Or be forgotten by the living
My soul is haunted by your fantasy
My life quivers from lips and eyes
Can ghosts recieve emotion?
A plane drives us apart; tangible or not
Even a ghoul has its perfection
Ghastly I cannot perceive, lust is blind
Gossamer shrouds have left me frenzied
The forsaken pleading for sanity
Release tendrils and leave me grave
Condemn mine spirit to peace
She vexes the dead with promise of living
Instead I am cursed with but a dream
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
Picture-perfect spectacle, splattered upon the canvas
White canvas polka-dotted, splashed, smacked
With an ensemble of colors partaking in lively dances
Artistry exemplary, simple applause apparently apt.
It was this artist’s one shot
The proof was in the painting
The piece ; joy is what it brought
The other piece, other joy, exhilarating.
Reds, violets, blues
Pinks, greens, and orange hues
Rainbow splats and careful flats
Certain clusters of paint make me glad.
Though, like every painting painted
A hidden passage creating vexes
Faint sadness ; happiness tainted
The mind of this creator perplexes.
All the while I’ve been feeling his art
And touching the surface
Deep below was his heart
Well crafted mask that hugged his face
I shall pick his brain
Quite literally, though it’s repulsive
For this painting was his last, ashame
His retirement is messy, but in an eye of an artist
This gunpoint suicide was one that held artistic fame.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC
Slumber used to offer me such vistas
as to awe and wholly set my mind free
Then, forbidden ana snatched sleep from me
I read of Them, coming from far reaches
of the Void, beyond our souls' frail cages
Star-spawned, They found Earth with ravenous glee
to feed on the dreams of all that would be
Formless They come, with dirges and vexes
You'll feel Their touch when you awake screaming,
when you smell rot even on a sunny day
When horrid waking visions are unfurled
of a thousand eyes in darkness gleaming
Now I no longer sleep, knowing that They
occupy, beside us, this fetid world
Jul 13, 2021
Jul 13, 2021 at 9:45 PM UTC
WRITING (Reflections from My Diary)
A writer becomes a writer not because he wants to write-
he becomes one because he WRITES and never stops writing.
It's only through the sloughs of disappointment and despair
that he finally sees the light which might take years, decades or a life-time.
Skills alone are not enough, nor grit or tenacity.
The other qualities, (indeed I regard these as being more important) he must acquire are patience and humility.
How could I ever call myself a writer? When I read the works of the masters and even those of my peers, I realise that I don't qualify to be among them. Best to regard myself as a student, an apprentice, a beginner and admirer (of all forms of art) and in this realisation I would have no choice but to write, write and write--day and night, if I wish to make any headway.
Yet, I always enjoy what I do--when I write, it's as though I live in another trajectory--I'm lost in time, beauty and wonder, and the external world, with all its drabness and tedium, seems to fade away and no longer vexes me. I become a new being, I have wings, I fly to a realm I've not known before, I am free and exultant, I sing, I dance, I marvel, I LIVE!
22nd July 2017, Melbourne copyright
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC
you bring out the
truculent psyche inside
me, the darkness within, the
seven deadly sins.
i embody lust because like glass
i am grains of sand struck
by lightning, paralyzed
with fascination,
morphing into the constant craving
i never was before.
i represent envy because you
are on the other side, and the
other side doesn’t know how lucky
it is to have you; your lingering
breath and soul.
i am sloth because like all
lonely mortals, deficiency of love,
the absence of you withdraws me
from passion and fervour, for
non-fictitious emotions.
i exhibit wrath because our bones
once clinched tightly together have
shattered beneath. your
touch is now foreign, this
vexes me and i am spiralling
down an
infernal
of self-loathe.
i symbolize gluttony because i often
indulge within the taste of your
lips, your beguiling smile all
without which i feel astray,
swimming in an ocean of lost love;
i yearn for you excessively, to
be with me, only me.
i am both pride and greed
infused into one because
i am still persistently craving for
more, yet too vain to openly
admit it to the world.
you have spun me over
and pulled me apart, now
i’m a sinner with
you perpetually in my heart.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
Above, the blushing blood moon vexes silken ebon space
with shadows in the mournful mist recalling, pale, a wistful trace -
her farewell smile I viewed through tears that almost veiled her face -
she turned away and whispered low 'another time, another place...'
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
An Envious Soul
For I lack a better namesake is
When a smile is gone because of past vexes
Darkened tunnel
Vision
Don't even pretend that its not there
Love bonds pull tight
Love bonds strangle the light
Love bonds cloud common sense
Love bonds
Let the stars commence
No matter what, my way is lit
If You Looked for a way to see what I want
It's there plainly
But Windy Days sees nothing
And Envious Soul pulls back curtains to see it all
See. It. All.
Windy Days waste away
Pounding at a bleak future landscape
Windy days sees nothing
It cannot comprehend
Bonds tighten then fray
Be frightened away
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
Free as the wind, you roam the land
Removing vexes from your heart.
Emerging anew from the past
Mellifluous with many smiles.
Elate my friend, your eyes possess
Lyrics no poet has ever wrote.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
The one who knows what an aglet is
And the one who found a cure to break outs
Are neck and neck
In the race to critical acclaim
The pure of heart take aim towards the regency
With flushed flesh
As if they were the ones racing
The chaste one vexes them all
They hope her chest caves in
And her vital organs fail
They see her as an appalling misuse of DNA
In this sequence
There is a strong emphasis of hate
But why?
Because hate is one of the fundamentals of life that's ubiquitous
Until an outbreak of letting go comes
And the appeals for torment to befall others come to and end
With that said, I want to see who wins this race, if that ***** little ***** gets what she has coming to her and those know-nothings on the throne get over thrown
As I enjoy this rhubarb and turpentine pie
It looks mouthwatering as ever
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
vexes sharp looks intriguing blond of hair
tightly of thighs mutters a pair
that i think might sound nice like
a nighttime sounds
pretty pushing a pin
between them
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 10:22 PM UTC
Atom open born energy fragrance
atmosphere bay embraces pactis'd origin heard
youth procreant *** uprights
soul proof vexes familiar stealthy fancied wondering
Backward
abased loose plunged
scabs full flags, handkerchiefs
babe Sprouting hair Tenderly,
faint perceive hints old somewhere collapses
die manifold companion lips Undrape!
silently red-faced sprawls clinking doors atop
mountains settle round luxuriant
slave friendly handsome owns I laughing
wet bodies spray sharpens lithe
steady giant for Oxen tread
consider wild sharp-hoof'd foot growing
easiest pure I resist cannot riddle grass
music battles dead fail'd set press.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
It has been a year
Exactly one year to the day
When we decided to say
I do, again, forever, together.
And never a day goes by
That I don’t try to hold you
And tell you again how much
You mean, your voice, your touch.
The only things that matter
Are these smatterings of moments
Like hugs and kisses good morning
And the same at bedtime at night.
These things are right and the best
Better than all the rest in life
Worth any strife, any price,
Several steps beyond nice
They are what fuels my hopes
And my peaceful dreams.
It seems that sometimes quickly
There are tickly moments to bear
Like a bolt out of somewhere
That must be suffered through
But as I do, there are you
Smiling saying it will pass
And just that fast, it does.
What it was is then a memory
And no longer vexes me
Because what is important is us
And not a sorrow that once was.
So, here is yet another toast
To what matters most, you and I
Learning from what has gone by
And building toward a great future
That is the two of us together
And never a regret that we are
Who we are, not wishing on a star
But accepting and reveling
In what we have now
And happy with how
Things can work out for two
Like me and like you.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
Maybe if I thought of her hard enough I could breathe her into my presence.
And although I try, her face only brings a tear
And with this tear I mix my hearts manifestation.
Only to write more grief,
Within the lines of this leaf
This is the great lovers manifesto
Questionable only with this:
Will I and my love ever manifest?
Or will I remain forever torn from my flesh?
Fighting the unchangeable,
The which, I cannot correct.
A part of isn’t here.
Though this part continues to live on
And I cry not because it lives, because it does not live it only exist
And though I pray for it to transcend,
I can’t ignore the wreckage that takes place within.
A part of me isn’t here.
And I wonder if someone is making love to you?
And even though there are more important questions that bombard me in the dead of night.
This one vexes me in the voices of rain drops dying upon my window.
Mockingly asking,
Does he hold you closely at night just to here two hearts beat simultaneously singing a love song?
Does he taste your sadness manifested as tears falling from your eyes?
And if he loves you answer me this,
Has his spirit ever transcended the ethereal to comfort you when you’re lonely?
I know the thought of you out there with all life has to offer and the thought of me having tasted some of the bitter fruit that this world produces is disturbing.
But don’t kiss him!
And if you do, veil your eyes so that he doesn’t look into them as I once did.
Don’t kiss him!
Because what lies within a kiss is a trust that boarders on the edge of love,
And what lies within losing your love is a mentality that boarders insanity.
And I could lose you through a kiss,
Lose you through a kiss,
Lose you through a kiss,
And in turn lose myself.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
My sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let you stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
*She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
Always. Anytime anyone asks about always, but before brutish chance can coerce, clashing choices decide destiny. Everyone except the exceptional few feel flustered, frustrated, foolish, faint, and frankly, ****** God gives graciously, gestures gestating generosity. However, he has his intricate intelligence of intimate ideas and ideologies. In jest, jubilee, and joviality, a juncture. A joust for the jugular. Keen and kindling, kindred killing, keelhauling laughter and loitering love, mankind makes mistakes. Many mistakes. Mortality is... notorious. Openly obstinate, obfuscating perpetual pain with quick, quiet quarks of rotating rationale and regular, radical, senseless self sacrifice and sacrilege; Stop. Time turns tumultuously, ticking towards tomorrow. This thing, these things, take time. Understand. Ultimately, unhappiness vexes vivaciously. Without withdrawal, where would we wander? I wonder. Yearning for yore, zealots. Zephyrs on the wind.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 2:50 PM UTC