"viable" poems
Over a period of time difference of opinion leads to debate following which mutual understanding might take place.
Somewhere down the line,
something might click,
then signs of mutual understanding will be there in offing.
Mutual understanding will bring the much needed change,
a change that's desired,
since it also fulfills the need of hour.
If mutual understanding takes place, then nothing like that since it moves in the direction of drawing a line of conclusion, which is the only reason because of which the debate commenced.
If mutual understanding is still a viable option,
yet far away,
then it’s time to keep negotiation apart and away from been a part of the debate.
Finally difference of opinion can lead to something positive and healthy, if the debate that is ensued following a difference of opinion is in the right direction,
in right spirit,
focus remaining on point of concern,
substance with regards to what’s going on in mind is not disturbed in anyway,
most importantly the debate is held on proper grounds.
Difference of opinion is also a sign for something constructive, if the mind is determined to make sure that the odds which are going to come along the way will not only be handled and tackled, but also taken out and taken away from the way of getting things done.
Finally it’s difference of opinion that makes team work interesting, if it is taken in the right spirit at the given moment in time.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 6:49 AM UTC
i must give you a full physical exam
to fully grasp my prognosis and plan
of treatment for you... dont be afraid
i feel confident, no need to debate
i can satisfy
and gratify
your pre-dic-ament
in the richest succulent
as a specialist, to some degree
my healing hands work expertly
but to receive full and complete treatment
you must partake my honey rather frequent
for a better plan of action
i require a full body transfusion
a chemical mixture of center fuses
a delicate blending of our juices
this may require several procedures
over time it provides many features
healing properties of your most vital *****
however worth it, even if, it cost a fortune
to this a can guarantee success
but first you must fully undress
i work with energy transference
your help required for successful convergence
of the best possible results
between two consenting adults
bartering is certainly a viable option
for your long term medical condition
providing equal services for each other
helps maintain balance to one another
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 1:01 AM UTC
Suicide is not an option.
There are times in your life, when time is not on your side,
But please do not rush to your death,
I have no wish to see you die.
I intend to lay here, by your side
And awaken you with a kiss, in the morning light.
For suicide is not an option, I shall let you choose,
Suicide is not an option, I shall let you take.
I wouldn’t want to grieve the loss of such beauty,
So please don’t go away.
For you are everything this poor boy needs,
To sleep at ease each night.
You give me my reason to struggle on, try as life might,
To take me out, I’m going to stand solidly at your side,
For your love gives me strength
And holding your hand gives me such pride.
You are my reason for continuing to live,
No matter what this life may throw at me.
I wish I could mean as much to you,
So if you love me, then suicide you cannot think,
Is a viable option you can seriously take.
Please my love, don’t let me awaken to your corpse today.
Please my love I would do anything,
Whatever it takes, to give you a reason to live.
But suicide is not an option, I shall let you choose;
Suicide is not an option, I shall let you take.
I wouldn’t want to grieve the loss of such beauty,
So please don’t go away.
Have you really given up on us?
Have you had enough of me?
Do you mean it when you say I have your love?
Or are you simply saying that to get what you need?
Because I want you to know I love you so,
This is why I can’t let you just go.
So suicide is not an option, I can let you choose,
Suicide is not an option, I can let you take.
I could not grieve the loss of such beauty,
So please don’t leave me today.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC
As you enter the realm of boredom a trigger is pulled
The hammer falls and you scurry in it's silence
Everything viable to suffice your wants that we always think are needs
Watch how quickly and how desperate your trials to appease this figment becomes
Pointless rage while you shut others out
Yet invite strangers to suggest a way to cure the symptoms
You become detached as a person with less than any friends
Because you choose to follow these stupid trends
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
i sit at the library computer.
across the room TUTOR JOHN prepares
his lessons for the free CITIZENSHIP CLASSES he conducts
for the punjabis, mexicans hmungs and others seeking
to pass the immigration service citizenship test.
he is a great man.
it is not surprising to say that he likes me and is my friend
as i am his friend
why is that?
in the simplicity the seed forms itself into
viable human forms and human beings
this we all know
yes we do
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 12:54 PM UTC
A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto
as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology
smashing to fragments: demonic astrology
(more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though).
Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance
Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit –
ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience.
Margaret sang her seductive refrain
about weeding the garden and progress and light.
Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain
but instead have adopted her murderous rite.
With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics
(as if she had never herself been a fetus),
condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics
while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us.
Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain
she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain.
As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side)
Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy
singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide
calling the shots for the coming sick century.
Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races
her zeal was empowered by murderous graces.
She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction:
“dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy”
“viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction”
Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy;
words that turn Life into mere reproduction.
She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless
roundly condemned by her feminine otherness.
Man’s first protection: the God-given womb
which no infant should have to regard as their tomb.
Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her
as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her.
Long may she burn with the medical cynics
this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics.
Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen
and the profits swell big with each nubile teen…
yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen.
I send her this song as a funeral wreath
and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there:
“To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death
from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth.
May your torment increase with the children you bear.”
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
How many chocolates did this person eat?
If the chocolate was made before the chocolate was eaten.
It melted away through the process of heating.
But, how could the chocolate melt if the chocolate was almost freezing?
Its exposure to the sunrise was apparent,
But, at what time did it leave before becoming disparate?
The time difference was dwelled in effect,
before the chocolate was seen in such repent.
Therefore, the state of the chocolate has been pronounced viable.
In the mouth of the person of which this question ultimately relies upon.
In the sense of being eaten once it was made,
while maintaining its sweet composure without heating or freezing away.
How many chocolates did this person indulge?
If in reality it was only made an hour before it was divulged!
Only this person could really say,
to relive this encounter one must divulge away.
While the mystery revolves around the chocolates dense state,
We must indulge in a chocolate now and allow this question to dissipate.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
Dreaming in ivory she heeded nothing.
The solace rushed through each cell like unalloyed ecstasy.
Evaporating her last sigh, she let go of the agony left viable within.
Life wasn’t absolute anymore, self identity was consumed.
A lifeless corpse with no earthly ties, no human needs.
Decay began having his way with her devoid flesh case.
Life flourishes from blight so gracefully.
What once contained memories and dreams, was now reduced to naught.
Nov 15, 2022
Nov 15, 2022 at 8:11 PM UTC
He builds robots
with his bare hands.
He takes the wrenches
and the electronics
and the nuts and bolts
and makes out of nothing
Something.
And even though I don’t even know him.
I think I may love him a bit.
I think about
How he puts things together that weren’t connected ever before.
Fixing that which is broken
Or unmade
Or seemingly unfixable.
And proving the world wrong when this man-made machine
is just as alive as the rest of us.
The discarded
are made
into something with a renewed sense of purpose.
Proving recycling as a totally viable concept
[and not just a fad hippies whine about]
Right before your very eyes.
And as I watch him explain
High level mechanics
to the English majors like me,
I think about my broken heart
and the inability to truly love anyone in the last five years of my life
And I think
Maybe
There’s someone out there
Who can finally fix that.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
Struggling for a gift again,
Every year a new idea needed.
What can I get an agnostic who has everything?
Another Tiffany charm
Won't do any harm.
A clay pigeon shooting experience couldn't possibly miss
How about Afternoon Tea...
With me?
Wait, an idea that's viable,
A personalised Bible
Where, rather than 'God',
Her name instead:
"In the beginning Doris-Ann created the Heavens and the Earth"
Right through to:
"I am the Alpha and the Omega, says the Lord Doris-Ann"
What a revelation,
A new gift to sweep the nation!
A personalised Bible
Whose sales will rival
The good book itself.
Such a gift might be great,
Until, at St Peter's gate,
Doris-Ann might have to explain
That she was once God on Earth
And that should be good enough
For an agnostic not to be rebuffed.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:11 PM UTC
***Most people live for love
But some of us live because of it***
Such unforgivable forgetfulness
Lost within potential photos
Preoccupied and overly abrasive
Harmless yet persuasively implicit
These eyes are speechless
But explicitly dying to speak
A picture so perfect for lust
A thousand words
Just isn't enough
Deeply indebted
With every glance
Too perplexed by color
How none of it belongs
Another illustrated nightmare
Where sleep is prolonged
Where the sick plans
To escape with the thought
Trapped inside the mind
So adolescent
Oh picture the heartache
Rejoicing over a carcass
Still standing
And rapturing moments
We all long to feel
This winter shiver
So sicken from cold feet
An undying hunger
For butterfly soup
***Proof
What worthy time to be alive
Clearly sold on the vision
Never too hasty to cover
This lover isn't blind
But envisioned
May we all fall victim
To the photos
We aren't viable to find*
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 10:35 PM UTC
Confide in me
the irony
of laughter as a crutch to keep
with self descriptive Bildungsroman
in view of Schadenfreude's Ad hominem
Mask the image, compensate, compensate
Power struggle, shift division, relegate, relegate
Egocentric discharges inhabited by identity crisis
Circumstantial Deus ex machina, plastered on by streams of vices
No wreck, no head on, but a path beset by tolls and diversions
Somehow I must find a way to make these scattered routes converge
Dead and othered language roams the fields of pomposity
More ironic self aggrandizement, an appropriation of ferocity
Paint them a picture in the mind's eye of your blurred forward vision
I want to see the target marked, but attention is a competition
I'm Viable, I'm Jovial, I have the means to take these chances
I'm lying now, it's one or the other, let's hope I make the right advances
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
Rain is refreshing in a strange, backward way. It shocks you out of a deep, prolific lapse of participation in reality and reminds you that you’re still here. You’re still corporeal, tangible, you can feel and you can decide. But rain is still rain. It can be cold and unpleasant to be faced with, or it can be warm and welcoming. Beconing you forth to splash and smile in the reality you forgot still applied to you.
I left behind the idea of full, around the clock consciousness during my last frigid thunderstorm. I realized, during a session already dedicated to realizations, how exhausting it was trying to live my reality to its current extent. How frustrating and soul-crushing it is to have the ambition you truly believed in and planned to embark upon, forgone by the limits of a situation you have no control over. I kept a small jar of ideas and plans in the very back corner of my closet. They were safe, they couldn’t be taken out back and shot nor could they be taunted and destroyed from the inside out. When I was cornered in my intruded closet, when I was taken by the collar and shaken for my truth, they were found. Both above-mentioned circumstances played out shortly but in the opposite order. That’s when it began to rain.
I decided on an alternative: selective awareness. I keep myself alive only feeling and participating when the rain is tepid and pleasant. When I feel the temperature beginning to drop, I fall back asleep, floating through lull and lash, until the sun comes to change the course of my simulation. For days, all I will see is fog. I’m lost and isolated, but that lack of direction comes with an onset of contentedness. There is no one who can see me wandering through a deluded course I have set for myself. I don’t know where I’m walking, I don’t know what’s in front of me, so the warm rain will give me a pleasant surprise as it melts away the fog and gives me hope for sustainable warmth.
The cloudiness that lingers in my head, even when I’m experiencing kindness and sensitivity, reminds me that my effort to make my reality more livable is as viable as staying completely shrouded in fog until I wander off the edge of a cliff. Eventually, as I age out of my simulation, I’ll have skin thick enough to withstand the hailstorm I’ll be forced to reckon with. Resilience is necessary, but hope exists. I often forget it does while I’m wondering, but serenity and light remind me that fog isn’t all I’ve devolved into. Rain will come, and so will spring.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 9:39 PM UTC
Osiris is not a viable option,
The rays of him are toxic,
One must err on the side of caution,
One mustn't take in the toxins.
Not with a serpents gaze of night ,
I am the gleam in their very eyes,
The twilight of people's lives,
The shine dwindling with time.
Street lights conjoin with the void,
As loss and gain meet with choice,
The old teach young about voice,
Lack thereof and unspoken poise.
Lines have gathered across the head,
Along with emotions, swirling regrets,
Primal fear creeps up ones neck,
The remainder of memories to forget.
I haven't slept for I have wept
I
Am
No
King
I haven't sang for I have pain
I
Am
No
King
I haven't laughed for I am ******
Keep
On
Looking
I haven't smiled for I am vile
You
Won't
Find
Me
For she dwells within me
A potion within a vial
Searching for answers,
Answers that have long since forgotten the questions,
As words have forgotten poems,
Poems that have forgotten books,
Books that have forgotten shelves,
And you, who has forgotten me,
Although you live here, my Isis.
You do not have the mind,
To know that I dream of you,
With me, as one in the same,
Glimmers of hope which make way,
For back breaking pain, and disdain
As you say, my name, I sob, I pray,
You encounter the soul provider,
Whom you alone, deserve.
Deciphering the hieroglyphics,
The depth of my chambers,
Such an undertaking,
Is only for those not wary,
Of rude awakenings and laws,
Forsaking the freedom of my bonds,
Which hold my place, along the gate,
Which controls my fate.
Bonds of loathing and taunting
Specters of faceless smiles
Messages of nameless moans
Titles and spiteful rivals,
Bring cries of despair and tears,
Which shatter the floor beneath,
Uncovering layers of disgust,
Skin deep, is the source of vanity.
Vanity meaning fleeting importance,
For it, death, life, joy, fear, hope,
And melancholy; know nothing,
As they are simply the effects,
But not the causes of the ruckus,
The frozen coating of ocean surface,
Ignorant to the swelling below,
Waiting for a chance to bring Diablo.
I
Am
No
King
You
Won't
Find
Me
Strip
Me
Of
My
Crown
And
Bury
Me
My
Queen
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC
So many are filled with hostility
hostile world, we're living in
in a place of constant volatility
volatile minds, never giving in
this world needs new possibilities
possibly, we can fix this place
place me in a world of viability
viable living for the human race
will we ever sow the seeds of fertility?
fertile growth for all of mankind
mankind needs a brand new civility
civil ways should be re-defined
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
Just about anyone can follow a path,
but they who always tread upon someone else's path
seldom leave footprints,
for footprints are evidence of walking off the pre-existing paths
and into the unknown or unexplored
and then returning
to some communal, common path
to share what was found.
We musn't assume that the paths
are the only viable thoroughfares,
literally as well as figuratively:
The
path that's
suggested
is not the only
path that one can take:
one must find
one's own
path.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 5:17 PM UTC
I used to wonder each and every time,
Whether all his acts were false pretense or simply divine.
It was hard to believe he could ever lie,
Yet! The toughest thing for me was to bid him goodbye.
What I saw in the start was love and care for me,
Later I realized, it was a camouflage I couldn't foresee.
The moment I was on the verge to open my tight shut eyes,
There he was standing with another disguise.
I tried really hard to unveil his mask,
Thinking it is finally an end to this task.
What I found there was the shock of my life,
There were more masks beneath this mask of guise.
I ran away from him and thought of never seeing his face,
Just a flash of his memories reminded me of all those days.
I stopped myself to take my steps backward,
Not realizing that I was going back to a coward.
I knew I was making a blunder,
'Cause to him I was going to surrender.
I was too weak, that from him I failed to save my enclave,
But couldn't fight back as my greed for his love had made me his slave.
This self-revelation brought a start to another set of pretense,
Surprisingly! It was not him but me following thence.
Ignoring all his faults and lies I had ever known,
I moved forward with him, in selfish motive of my own.
Money or fame was not the reason,
Why then my heart longs for this person?
The question I used to ask myself every now and then,
The only viable answer was maybe I can relate to all his pains.
It was really long I fell for someone so fast,
I knew I was gonna go away and this ‘relationship’ is not going to last.
This realization was enough for me to forgive all his faults,
Call me selfish! But this was the only way to untangle the knots.
Maybe it’s not pretense, something I can’t understand,
Whenever I needed him, he stood by me as a friend.
So, what encouraged him to lie and betray me again and again?
Fear of losing people, makes him think only about his gains.
Digging deeper and deeper into this matter,
I forgot I don't have much time and I can do this later.
Few moments that are left, I wanna live with him
Sooner or later, he'll find his true self within
Lover or caretaker, whichever form he portrays to be in,
I can still find a good person in him,
So, when my love for him is so deeply intense,
Then, why not I live in another false pretense?!
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
a human tool, a drawing pencil, shedding snakeskin cells as
lead from no. 2 pencil
am **** and blood, skin and hairless,
all-to-come-to-go,
return retuned, at their own chosen speed,
gen of regeneration of disrupted oils and heavenly blessings,
morning cracks and orifices, filling and emptying obediently,
to the tidings of the grieving gravity of my moon’s decisions
that govern the lunatic cycle
you may kiss me with all your heart unto a robust welcoming,
scorn with spittle and deem unfit,
I know the difference and it is inconsequential
see me as combustible or flat, airless and empty,
as a new or a two day old leaking birthday balloon, or a haiku
that makes the reader gasp for the reasoning for breathing
think of me as a meme who responds to the touch of
your nippled forefinger, but my powers are unlisted,
therefore unlimited
for I am neither cyber or cypher though aesthetically they
appear as parts of my humanity, a human machine
forever reprogramming to new stimuli sensating,
the temperature of your breath, the many odors of you
as inputs that bear newborn children notions in
my chested gas chambers, the belligerent bellum bellies of my brain
my digital describe in thousands of computers do hide,
but to comprehend the interacting calculations that are
my constancy and my inconsistencies, you must make a tour
if you are awake between midnight and dawn when from
wells the visions, the fluids - the words are drawn
they, the residuals of a man’s *********** with
other humans, kin akin, and the thriving discourse between l,
man and parental gods of invisible powers, that offers insanity
as a viable solution, to cracking the codex human DNA
in the vial labelled Medusa
Who else?
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 10:24 PM UTC
Vision Blurred from mind murmurs, I pause.
Weak so very weak, ideas -the main cause-
It starts with thought, Mine? Maybe. Theirs? Viable.
Perchance a sight sparks sources, pliable
To my forgotten fountain of words and youth.
Whatever kerosene lights false truths,
Matters not, the elicit creation
Itself boils thick blood, a gyration
Of self-exploration and daydreams.
Envision that my dear, a lonely sunbeam:
It is there! Muses dancing in the field,
Undulating excitement revealed!
The blank page beckons, the clever pen begs
To strut. Alas! Its form flutters, the dregs
Remain to tease&taunt; the restless soul
My mind murmurs, trapped, weakened: the sinkhole
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 8:32 PM UTC
The soul starts off pure and humble,
unscathed from the thoughts of man.
But then we grow up and we begin to mold,
trying anything just to fit the plan.
But why must i be in a box
when i know i'm undefinable?
It scares people not to label me
they feel vulnerable and viable.
I'm not a punk i'm not a ****
i'm not anything that i do.
The only thing i really am
is undefinable to you.
And if that really scares you
and you have to label me,
then please choose not to focus on
that which doesn't define me.
I'm not the clubs i do
or even the music i choose to hear,
i'm not the guy i hooked up with last night
or the movie that brings me to tears.
What i am is much more deeper than that.
Its what i choose between whats right and wrong,
and maybe the special lyrics i like
from my very favorite song.
We're all a bunch of different things,
and experiences, and pain.
But to try to box us into categories
just seems downright insane.
i really just don't understand,
does it scare you i'm not like the rest?
not a sorority girl
not a hipster
not an activist at a protest.
one thing i will protest though
is smooshing me into a box.
because i really won't fit anywhere
i'm eternally, utterly lost.
but not the kind of lost you get
when you have somewhere to go
i'm the kind of lost thats wander
and i'm not really lost at all.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
the webmaster has
become quite the recluse
he's been away without
offering a viable excuse
it was back in March
that he fled from this egress
not issuing any of us
a forwarding address
on Tuesday we sent
out twenty four scouts
to ascertain intelligence
as to his whereabouts
but the search party had
no good news to impart
all of them were
so disconsolate of heart
the domain is rather
down in the dumps
since our webmaster
pulled up his stumps
we are desirous of him
returning to home ground
it will be such a relief knowing
he's safe and sound
an APB was posted
on the worldwide web
by Brianna Jason
Trent and Kaleb
to seek out the now
cloistered maintainer
who's deserted his position
as our house retainer
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC