"willfulness" poems
Tender strength, sender's excuse
A sneeze to reach to tomorrow
Avid, we determine a silence was...
A house of compromise, sincerity, and willfulness, to borrow...
Burden yourself with a memory, some other dainty...
A question thought liberty, driven by the wind
Has visited me, in the couth of decency's charity
Simple lessons of anger, and the angel of succumbing kin...
Redoubt is my only defense...
Pied, or provided a callous soul, the taint?
I seek is a lip with no meaning, meant in the essence
We direct to such, a season of wishes, we compare to ain't...
Anarchy in love, the thought to reason
Anarchy in though, the times found me a shown few
Anarchy in decision's, a guarantee of blinder moments
Anarchy in ascertainment, a host of wisdom to look at you
A yawn with no future...?
As shrewd as furious days make a prayer, a seclusion
Catching mine, in measure and deliberate other, is a cure
Forces in voices, and the rationality of mercy; loves only intrusion?
Psyche
Can I have my weight in gold, a tarter heaven?
So wished for, so washed of another fight...
With heaven, to remember succor in forms of resolve to come by, loving...
Dec 12, 2023
Dec 12, 2023 at 12:14 PM UTC
I feel you slipping away my love
when the night is cold and still.
When the years rush in and stand quietly by my bedroom door,
quiet and mute with sorrowful eyes with shoulders drooped in resignation.
I feel you slipping away my love as I sit here.
As the reality glimmers through and shines upon this page,
the silent rage now unspoken for want of reason or assignment.
Broken and wasted like a crystal vase with roses strewn across the floor.
I feel you slipping away my love as I grasp feebly at the strings of the beautiful bouquet
that rises just beyond comprehension and wafts gently on the summer night
to lite tattered and unwilling in far places unseen by our desires.
Embers softly glowing and now knowing the end has now begun.
Years upon years of clawing at our fears that this was not to be.
A blazing fire dowsed with strife and ire ,no air to stoke the flame.
No time to play the game. All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl.
I cry quietly in the glow of poor reason. I feel you slipping away my love.
I feel us slipping away now and forever. The shell does just as well to crumble.
A castaway sits on the sandy shore knowing full well that rescue will find
his molding husk frozen in time and empty in the continuum. His bones bleached past.
The grinning mask of irony and frozen regret.
My love our reach exceeded our grasp but youthful willfulness and hope was the rope.
The rope that we clung to and weathered the battering breezes as we closed our eyes
to reason after all love will find a way ?.Even love was not enough, but we knew deep down.
I feel you slipping now with eyes wide open.
We watch as the chasm widens and shrug our shoulders.
Calloused hands tired of trying now. Weary eyes dry from crying now.
willfully stuck and denying now. I feel you pull away.
I will wonder the desert parched with regret of this I have no doubt.
But deep down I knew this. Hoping against hope. still.
There will be no other to take your place. Who could?.
We gave hope it's chance.
Once we did dance.
Life became duty.
We fought off the wolves.
We turned. We forgot.
We grew apart while joined at the hip.
How funny.
How sad.
Duty bound as love unwound.
No us time.
I feel you slipping, slipping.
Goodbye.
My.
Love.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 8:45 AM UTC
As we change ourselves,we waste time.
Never realizing,we are perfect by what we may become.
We are saturated with society's perspective.
Propaganda tells young girls to cover themselves,to become someone else.
It tells young boys to stop imagining about their visions.
Children are persuaded to be content.
They cannot be free until they can be themselves.
Propaganda by a running chauvinist monarchy.
Eve was reluctant to taking the fruit,but she did what was right.
In the end,willfulness,saved us all.
Doing what we want and loving who we please.
Forced to hide everything.
A tiny brown box with latches,inside,we are stored.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
I feel the urge to disappoint myself again.
Like conjuring up the dead.
There is a willfulness to open the box,
to play with the bones,
to say the words in the right order and make the right incantations.
I don't want to off myself.
I want to set to motion a series of events that spells out my own doom.
To be responsible for the end of my own world.
To set my own house on fire and warm myself, homeless, in the ashes caused by my own hands.
It's a sickness. An allure. Damage.
An unquenchable curiosity of what happens if I push the glass heirloom off the shelf.
No one is ever able to stop the teenagers from renting the beach house.
Let's get this horror show started.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 2:33 AM UTC
The jig is up for us who know each dawn delivers
A renewed sense of dread, despair, disillusionment; another day in,
Day out slog, the persistent, insistent fear of, fill in the blank,
An absolute knowing in the end, nothing really matters.
A tranced-out going through the motions at a meaningless job,
The mechanical everything's fine exchange, the pasted on smiles,
The inevitable, "How ya doing, how's it going?",
Muttered absent mindedly on the work-a-day-rat-wheel.
One thought that saves the day; the ride home, the solace of
The burn of the ***** the quick numb out effect straight into the
Blood brain barrier without a hitch, the fear lifting, down into the dark Chamber of no real care and slowly, surely, relief arrives.
And deep inside this numb town, a desperado appears, calls the shots, Schmoozes slyly, "Hey compadre, give me your fear, and
I give you my self-righteous willfulness in return, and best of all,
I’ll deliver you your very own smothering mother of oblivion."
Awakened, head pound, brain fog, dry as a desert, need water now, And Like clockwork, a barely audible patient inner voice asks,
“Is this the really the life you want?” and without hesitation,
The regular repetitive retort, “Yup, one more day at a time.”
Aug 21, 2011
Aug 21, 2011 at 4:00 PM UTC
Willingness
or
Willfulness
We find our place
in
this universe.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
My mouth opens but nothing comes out....
I am not sure why but I am unable to speak now.
Instead the willful arrogant one shows you her face ~ the one you call 'petulant'. You do not understand how much pain there is inside of this body, how could you, when the parts who hold the pain are no longer allowed to speak to you. Instead the ill-tempered one talks; you find her to be 'annoying' and peevish, in fact, it seems as though she feels the need to be on defense all the time. She is contemptuous in her behavior shielding any feelings of vulnerability from you with her supercilious speech.
She stands behind the wall that has been rebuilt between you and her and the wall is made of brick, the mortar solid and unforgiving. If you could see behind the icy blue of her eyes as they tell you confidently that she is doing well…if you could see behind her, you would be able to see that all is not okay. You would be able to see that she is not a petulant child, but rather a frightened girl, teenager, woman. You would be able to see that the arrogance and cockiness of her speech and stance, her willfulness…is a defense tactic. If you could see behind the brick wall you would see that she feels like she has tumbled backwards and she has lost her voice.
BEHIND THE WALL:
*She is not defensive...she is scared.
She is not petulant...she is guarded.
She is not confident...she is uncertain.*
If you could see behind the wall, you could see that she waited years for someone to come into her life and tell her that it was okay to tear down that wall. Behind the wall she chokes back tears of sadness and shakes in fear. Behind the wall she hides in dark corner...afraid she has now become one more casualty in this ****** war as she struggles to once again find her voice.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
Surely I would know it
If there were any truth to this
The senses, yet, are treacherous
And mostly so’s the wit
Truly I’ll believe it
When intuition strikes
The mirrors running liquid
Through my mind
Freely, I would will it
Convinced by logic’s myth
But ignorance is willfulness
And indifference is bliss
Clearly I can see it
Awoken from reality
Plugged into a conscience
That feeds on mere deceit
Naturally, I am it
The being and the time
Meddling in reality
Mistaking truth for mine
Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 4:16 PM UTC
No subplot, no agenda, and no guile.
Yes, there are people who are naturally this way.
Blithe souls, who are confused by
subterfuge, willfulness and meanness.
It is not a lack of intelligence.
No, not at all.
Perhaps excessive empathy
and original innocence.
You may think them fools.
Perhaps they are, or maybe blind.
Or do they see too deeply?
Sometimes you'll see one as a child.
See them watching serenely
As the other children play.
But far from spectators, they
often excel at many things.
They see the pain suffered
And wonder why we hurt each other.
The more they see, the more
they are confused.
Still they watch, and try
to comfort and console.
They try to understand-
and never will.
This world is not their home.
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 12:45 AM UTC
Our blissful rapture's
open to desire
as you consummate
with in me your love.
In this sultry sequel,
romanticism's left speechless
as you smother me to
your smoldering body,
Rocking hard then softly
Again thrusting with in me
You whisper passionate words
of rapture.
You've explored my mystical
bond's of sensuality,
taking me higher then any other
while singing my praise of beauty.
Just the two of us you proclaimed
your ultimate love for me.
There's nothing better
or anything close to this-
between harmonious lovers.
Rocking swiftly but
as gentle as a breeze.
Torment me and make me succumb
to your awaking desire
left hardly spent as you
beg me to release my
over flowing stream.
Eenveloped by the alluring rapture you've
brought out in this lovers bed,
has me reeling my head back
crying out while handful of sheets mingled
in sweat cause me to forget past or present.
Enticing adventurous lover take me
again and again,
swim with in my honey milked pool ,
Dance deep within my utopia.
In every tender word you whisper
expectation builds within my desire
to submit again and again to your
willfulness,
to your powerful ******
Our bodies entwined re rewind
and repeat the dance steps again.
I moan,
You cry out,
I scratch,
You hold tight, I open,
You fill,
until it's like a dream so unreal.
In this soft bed of wild inspiration,
I loose all control,
loose my self with in you.
We've became one, so engrossed with
one another it's hard to tell
where you stop and I began.
I willed this moment!
I will'd time for just a little longer,
day becomes night
and night becomes day,
we've lost all track of time.
Lost all perceptions
of what was meant to be,
Finally it's time for us
to reclaim our soul.
To break down the walls that
keeps us separated for so long.
No longer will I yearn for you
and you for me,
even if all we have to
give is this and this moment.
(For now sweet Lover!)
Always Me Ayeshah
Apr 10, 2010
Apr 10, 2010 at 3:14 AM UTC
I'm learning to respect my strength
I used to be spiteful of it
As a woman, I am expected to be feminine, distressed, graceful, always right
I am not sure how it came to be but I have not respected the order of things
I have not seen that in this spiteful way I have regarded my willfulness
It has also become my saving grace in times of malcontent
My truth is clear
I am not strong because I am
I am strong because I was made by strong stuff
My mother stubborn, smart, sensual
My father intellect, humor, heart
God
I am not credited for anything that I am
But I am graced with the empowerment of women
That would not be difficult today
I cannot stop fighting even if it's easily given
Because it is a battle not a gift
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC
Shower me in your wisdom and knowledge
Drench me in your love and compassion
Bathe me in your affection and loyalty
Wash me in your thoughtfulness and literature
Saturate me in your hope and trust
Soak me in your heart, mind, and presence
Clean me in your forgiveness and mercy
Rinse me in your faithfulness and desire
Dry me in your strength and willfulness
Apprehend all my mistakes and failures
Tarnish all evil from my soul and future
Separate me from discomfort and judgement
Alleviate all my pain and pessimism
Cast away all my enemies and grudges
Deliver me to sanctuary and utopia
Welcome me to euphoria and bliss
Embrace me in you and around you
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 8:02 PM UTC
Run,
free men,
run
by train
by car
by plane
by horse
depart from this
stagnating and dying
place, free men,
you must
you will be the first to go,
then the strong,
then the smart,
then the talented,
then the great,
until finally
only the meek
are left
and the world
will fall to ruin
in their hands
you must run,
free men,
you must seek
a new earth
you,
the ones
with dreams in your eyes
and love in your hands
you,
the men and women,
who hold the greatest
above the rest
you,
the people
who live despite
our culture of
death
run,
free men,
run
you,
free men,
must
free men,
run,
I beg of you
run,
escape,
I pray
I ask of you one thing,
free men and women
of the world:
do not look back
do not wonder what becomes
of your mothers and fathers
and brothers
we are lost
we are slaves
to our own
fortunes
and
we are not you,
you, free men
we are what you could’ve been
so learn form that
do not be us,
run from us,
part from us
without guilt,
we are jealous
of your truth
take this chance
free men,
use your willfulness,
your youth,
and
run
let this dying world
be dying
let our histories
be histories
let the past
be the past
let yourselves be
yourselves
run,
free men,
run
this earth will be here
for you to, one day,
reclaim
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 2:12 PM UTC
My days are long and lonely
For fault is all my own
My cloudy eyes and judgement
Have broken every tone
O willfulness bemoans me
Hard headed through and through
I’ve thrown it all away for pride
And now I long for you
If only I foresaw my heart
And felt this pain forecast
These cloudy days would be no more
But sunshine everlast
I hang with slightest bit of hope
That she may be my grace
Deserved surely not at all but mercy is thy race
If only I could be my best when she deserved it most
My selfish ways and hurtful mode are all I have to boast
These words are insufficient
If only for myself
But hope persist
And life reborn
When dispensation endowed
My heart is fleeting with my seed
All that I’ve loved is gone
O sacramental faith prevail
Be portent willing One
I seek your greatest intercession,
To make my family one!
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 4:11 PM UTC
Many would say
Bravery
Takes a risk
A brush with death
No fear
A sharp eye
Quick wit
Many would say
Bravery
It takes harsh
Reality
I say
To be brave
Takes a stand
It takes faith
A strong heart
And courage
A silent prayer
Or many
A heart full of love
A willfulness
Walking a path
On your own
Without it ever being
Known
Bravery cries
Silent tears
No listening ear
Ever hears
Only
To get back up
With eager
persistence
To be brave
Is many things
It's strong
It's loyal
It's resilient
But most of all
To be brave
truly takes endurance
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 1:53 AM UTC
Your left knee is arthritic,
Your spine is warping too
Your reactions aren’t so quick
And you’re often in the loo,
But we cannot help you
Your time is simply due.
It’s normal for your age.
Your skin’s become quite dry
As well as your nether parts
Your outfit isn’t fly
And you’re far more prone to farts
But it’s been written in the cards
It’s been sung by many bards
It’s normal for your age.
You tell me it’s an illness
And you want it treated fast
I’m afraid it’s your willfulness
You weren’t designed to last
The diagnosis is that your youth is in the past
We won’t treat your condition; the die’s already cast.
It’s normal for your age.
Oct 9, 2020
Oct 9, 2020 at 11:46 PM UTC
Alarm clock’s buzz
Yanked from one world to another
The first so real but fast fading
A mist in morning sun
What was it all about?
Clutching at straws
Blown by this wind of wakening
Think hard
Grasp the remnants with words
Write them on the beach
That bounds this ocean of unconsciousness
But the very act of naming
Is a wave of willfulness
Erasing the words
As soon as they are formed
Jan 3, 2022
Jan 3, 2022 at 1:09 PM UTC
to all women
your body is beautiful
your body is also your own
and no one has the right to tell you your personal preferences
you do not have to be skin and bones
you're allowed to have hair on your body
how did we get from loving ourselves to slightly mutilating the natural state of our bodies
in order to be deemed acceptable
it's ridiculous
that us women are ashamed of our scars
we're meticulous
about our body hair and how much is too much
we're limitless
in how far we'll go to hide or cover up our stretch marks
our vigilance
of our acne and how each spot seems like a curse
our willfulness
to shut out mouths about what happens to our bodies every month
our diligence
in making our waist size smaller
our bodies are a landscape and whatever lies upon it is beautiful
our scars are stories that tell about our experiences
our body hair is natural so why should it matter if people are offended by it
our stretch marks are badges of honor saying look at how strong this body is
our acne isn't ugly or nasty, it's a sign that we're going through the normal phases of life
our periods are beautiful and are designed to help us bare children
our weight and body size do not make us ugly, they make us who we are
once we realize that our bodies are beautiful
and that it doesn't matter what people have to say about it
we can finally understand that we need to take care of our body
because it is our home and it's the only place we have to live
your body is beautiful
your body is also your own.
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC
As a girl, her hands traced it in the soft darkness of summer
And that was all it needed: the tips of 4 fingers to say, “I will consume you now,
I will overtake your everything, your you.”
She promised and she didn’t know, and it happily devoured her
She was happy, too
As a woman, her hands snapped it in the hidden places of night
And that was all it needed: the evidence of 1 act to say, “I might disappear now,
But I will continue to consume you.”
She felt her old promise, and it easily burned her
But she had been easy, too
It is a shower for one, a leftover shirt, a journal
It is loneliness, cluelessness, a hoping
It is a nightmare, a few blunt words, a knot
It is reconnection, thankfulness, a knowing
It was a day, a smell, a letter, a clover
It was joy, a warm bed, it was a kiss and a day made
It was a basement, a taste, a song, a child lost
It was pain, it was bareness, it was a declaration and tears
It can be 6 years of life and it can be a home
It can be 2,190 days drugged and it can be a prison
It can be willfulness
It can be contract
Yet it remains a system of organs, of muscles, of bones
It is held together with smoke-roasted skin
It remains a collection of memories, of touch, of letters
It is held together with never-ending care
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
She indulges joy of movement o'er
Fields of rye that sway below her
breast, as billows roll beneath
inhaling summer's heat
At dawn she sweeps a mirrored lake
Whose surface shudders, now awake
No rest--move on--no time for doubt--
Not prone to be discrete
Savannas bow beneath her gaze
A stand of willows in the haze
Proud trees submit, turn inside out
Deprived of all conceit
Dispersing clouds she leaves a pattern
Of curls and swirls and ions scattered
Defiant crow is tossed about
Concedes a rare defeat
A pause in beauty's wingless pace
Her mood and willfulness displaced
Perhaps caprice, or just blown out
Now calm--she'll soon repeat
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 11:26 PM UTC
Being alone with myself is tricky because my mind constantly looks for trouble, a something waiting around the next corner, a shameful memory goblin ready to pounce and at times my scrutiny is so intense I'm practically blinded, set out on a wobbly tightrope, with no safety net while below a granite slab awaits.
And I wonder is anyone else out there familiar with this cold, damp, mind tunnel or is it only a certain few of us who sense some stuff is best keep hidden away, an ancient wrong, an awfulness never to be faced and freed from the darkness, a nowhere place where very few actually survive.
This remote black hole of my unholy secrets live, thrive, out of sight, out of mind, certainly God knows my cloak and dagger self yet God never interferes or removes the sticky fear I've created to block all forward progress, at least not until I'm willing to turn my willfulness over, release my need to be in control, my strong addiction to keep myself safe from life.
So here I sit, tired as hell, afraid of life, no sense of direction, just an ingrained habit to get busy, distracted, while inside a burning desire awaits, longs to live life, to face and be rid of fear, to trust an unknowable Source continues to wait patiently, to make all things new, the very moment I trust the Light at the end of the tunnel.
~ pe kaplan
Aug 5, 2021
Aug 5, 2021 at 11:45 AM UTC
There is a part of my psychology
I have absent mindedly
Spawned
a breed of prominently distressing insolence
As ology glides through my teeth I claw
clash combative willfulness
I radiate influence and malicious vigilance
But O,
The very void I dug I’ve grown pertinent to the roots I once
solicited slaughter to
I am twisted within the roots knotted to an impractical degree
contradicting the objective to make myself stronger the
roots remain tenacious
I persist beneath the tranquil surface
Of any other I lean stray and descend into a canyon,
A burden to the clock a
Balancing act I refuse to live a thief,
gaining profit of this
Life I have manufactured into a
circus of deceit
and as dirt clots at the peak
of my hands I ingest the debris of heedless weight
the sunlight will in time caress my face as
I can only
dig way complementary to the strength of my nail beds
so very frail
they plead for a sponge to
tend to the condition I have let them rot, decay
to their own dismay
this sponge
like my brain has
trouble absorbing substance.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 3:07 PM UTC
There is a tiring aspect
To these thoughts
Running marathons in my head
Out my ear they sprint
To find another host
Masterpiece you screamed.
That was what you saw.
Child, I whispered.
That was what I was.
Stronger you encouraged,
But never more than you
Willfulness.
My heart was full of that.
Beat me down I dare you
Try and start I fight
I'm used to losing myself
My temper and my hands
I know what I know
And I change what I can
If you only fall
I'll help you to understand
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 9:33 PM UTC