"wordings" poems
Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished.
Like us, a draft
of what can be called
"the both of us."
A draft created
that's open for change.
A change
to be better
---better
than who we are
or what we are
in the midst of the conflict
that floats around us
for the sake of us
for the both of us
---for each other.
A change
to be smoother
---smoother
with no mistakes,
with everything
in order;
consistent,
and coherent
even with the dialogues
we say that matter.
A change
to be clearer
---clearer,
meaning it is
at least what it is
meant to be conveying
with no underlying
vague wordings
when it comes
to our feelings
---for one another.
But that's there all is:
a draft
of what could be called
the both of us;
a product
of what we can become
if we make it become;
a product
of the possibilities
of what can be us,
of what might be us,
of what is it between us
between the fragments
of the words,
the lines,
and the series
of all of them
that constantly paint
faint descriptions of us,
descriptions
created [fabricated]
in my mind
like a work of fiction,
of pure imagination.
Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished,
like the poems
I wrote for us;
like the poems
about us;
like us, a draft.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 1:08 PM UTC
*He is a poet
And everybody knows it
Though sometimes they can be a little hard;
He gives them wordings
As easy as is speaking
And does it with pride and truly without regard.*
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
Sacred words are left out in stone,
the carved wordings will remain for long.
I don’t see why curiosity, always catches me at the sleeve.
It’s like I am a pet of the devil, wanting to find the light within.
I walk around like the cat, watching every single spark.
I embrace the lovely patterns, wondering when my light will shine.
I saw the gorgeous skies, shade away into purple cloths.
I remember seeing your light, for the very first time.
It shone brighter than anyone’s, I don’t even understand why.
You aren't the greatest, you aren't the best,but neither am I.
I saw the words being placed, down onto the cards to heaven.
I looked at the lanterns, fly away into the sky.
Dim lights of yellow and orange too, remembering how much I loved you.
Death is a sweet embrace, yet why do I yearn for something to waste?
It shone brighter than anyone’s, I don’t even understand why.
I don’t see the point, in disposing love or life.
She walks down the dark road, with traffic lights flashing at her,
she remembers every single day, that she needs to keep on living.
Through every shade, of red, yellow and green she needs, to remember you.
Walking down a path of remembrance, leads into a list of names.
When the first child is bared, she is labelled with your name.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:11 AM UTC
You are just an ordinary girl,
with the red lipstick as your shield,
Breathing in the pleasant wordings,
that society itself spills,
You are nothing but a sham,
Beneath that black mascara,
Locks the origin of your charm,
shows the end of your beautiful era.
Oh False Goddess,
You were once pure,
just an ordinary girl,
so ordinary yet extraordinary,
an idea came before that we should marry,
but look at you now,
I feel so displeased,
a thought came into my mind,
"as long as you are pleased",
Today I lost a friend,
a woman that i knew,
the relationship is at its end,
but every end begins a new.
Oh False Goddess,
I'm begging you please,
strip away the red and black,
to make me feel at ease,
Don't do this to yourself,
for attention and the fame,
you throw away your dignity,
and burn it down to flames.
Oh False Goddess,
My False Goddess,
You are no longer a Goddess,
nor an ordinary girl,
Just a corpse of false beauty,
that's what you are,
the so called Goddess.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
aesthetic is etiquette
is:
what is & isn't
either:
yet is both: in that they
are the same:
disparaging meanings...
nouns: the source
of ultimate meaning,
crux words...
and the source of
the thesaurus...
i wasn't looking
for a mathematical
conflation of grammar
either...
but...
aesthetic ≠ etiquette...
but...
it does! to keep up
with the formality
of norm, of power,
then
(the)
aesthetic = (the) etiquette,
but there is no "the"
to begin with...
yet...
if the aesthetic ≠ the etiquette...
why, either?!
dumb questions usually
prescribe
a continued willing
to perpetuate:
unquestioned...
hence the dumb questions...
my dumb question
lacks any elaborate ploy
to topple the status quo
for the sole reason that...
my alternative
matches
no genius of the originator
basis...
wordings are not
simply chanced to
be worth debating
a miscarriage
of implementing
the averted coin-flip...
(funny, how the articles
prop up,
miraculously)...
etiquette?
a macabre variety
of aesthetic...
nothing more...
but... etiquette is
still subordinate of
aesthetic...
isn't it?
hardly:
etiquette is still
subordinate off
aesthetic...
is it?!
a month spent
in a monastery of a novel...
cradle these words
unto a course
of nullification...
if i'd utter them in
a clutter of sparrows:
i'd be a equivalent to a mute
stone...
if i'd utter them in
a lion's harem:
i'd be a cat's meow (if not less)...
if i'd utter them in
the crow's shamanism
of all shadows...
i'd still be less
the croaking hark
of a voice that
might dictate: obey...
so...
so...
ah...
was kommen:
was ist...
und alles was:
ich, ich sterben...
ich war geboren?
ich war
nie sein: geboren....
ich war sein: sterben!
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
Oh how the saying makes me sick while excuses, there are not,
Decisions to decisions, word's weaponed from thought.
So, a new turn of phrase; is born within the dark;
words I whispered to myself, a lone,
A Sky-cyphers Scribble-sailing mark.
For the first and only time,
Not of me but you
These writing's wordings weave a web,
of synthesized virtue.
To be spoken allowed to oneself,
read, written or thought,
Of each word that's now misused- their purposes forgot.
examined, explained, investigated my life
As if speech were the blade, written words are the knife.
all of the meaning and every moral, we tether to our mortal coil
Life and it's significance- of time, distilled in transience .
The concept of fate & of destiny, too
Both insinuate journey, the movement through
How, now, can our destinations insue
We'll come Home, its depths, are dreams of blue.
*between the church hymn
And under haiku
It is,
Ravled in deep bules*
Apr 3, 2025
Apr 3, 2025 at 2:33 AM UTC
Survival isn't necessarily poetic,
Like the words of this poem,
it can be exhilarating,
exhausting,
enigmatic,
and yet not be poetic.
It can have rhyme schemes,
daydreams,
lazy hymns,
light beams,
internal screams,
like the ones entwined in this poem,
and yet not be poetic.
Survival doesn't need battle scars,
history of wars,
a trigger,
anything bigger.
All it needs is a flash of trust,
a burst of hope,
and a bunch of acceptance
to get past all that-
the state of denial,
the snake around your neck,
and the bags under your eyes.
Your very own battle cries.
So take this poetry
as your beam of light,
as an escape from the bland
wordings of survival,
and climb up and up
and out of sight
of the rock bottom
that you're planning to hit,
before you start healing.
Start breathing
Before you can't anymore.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
The fearless instraction.
The love of things, willow.
The newness of strings in a row.
A topic injusted,
A fated carnation.
Lapelled in your silkiest glow.
I want you not nearly.
Horizoning sunburst.
You're the fewest that I'll ever know.
I'll meet you on morrows.
With clumsiest wordings.
You're the seeds that I've not seen to sow.
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 10:43 AM UTC
Observant misconstrued glances weaving conclusions
of what is above your paygrade of perceptiveness.
imperfections of what you glance upon.
A child in the confinement of misunderstanding,
Only the turbulence of reality like ocean waves.
Solitude of emotions then surges of confusion crash.
Lost in the tall trees of emotions as the leafs of
disorientation venture to cloud a mind of needed calm.
The conciseness needs the rhyme of routine to balance.
Heed this thought those of ill-conceived notions that
when this little miracle has a moment of uncontained
emotion, it is not for your misconceived wordings.
"My little one mummy is here, daddy too,
"Hear our voices like a calm ocean over you,
A mother embraces the worries of your thoughts,
easing the confusion of the world away..
Others may stare in ignorant stances.
*"But nothing is wrong with you, you're our baby
cuddling the confusion of your surroundings away.*
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 7:09 PM UTC
Have you ever missed someone so greatly,
till your heart grieves dolefully from dawn to dusk and dawn,
your soul achingly starves of rendezvous,
yet you let the innocent remain as is.
Only, surreptitiously hoping,
that you two would run into one another unpredictably,
as if mother nature coincidentally let you two converge,
or as the God unexpectedly grants your bedtime prayers.
Because, you barely can stand
having your very own deceptive, polished outer shell
cracked down.
You hardly let the scrupulous persona
envisage your constant cravings
for his perfunctory good mornings, eloquent wordings, and dainty giggles.
And, by no least,
you’re afraid he will sneak into your ice-masked, truthfully fragile personality,
only to discover your non-seraphic quintessence.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
My ear itches
for those whispers
in the dark
Which once made me calm
Darkness was friendly back then
and reality was dreamy
Immortal lyrics
Played my soul like guitar strings
When wondering eyes jammed.
We were both young then and love was painted like Lions den.
But deep within we yearned for a song whose lyrics were as few as the stars in the milkyway,
but it's soothing surpassing ice in the desert.
Far apart I could still feel your hands in mine.
Far away I could still hear your songs rewind.
I'll keep sending you smiles across the miles hoping someday you would be mine.
My heart will still trickle from the grave when those wordings and melodies resonates in my ears 'I miss you'
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 2:52 PM UTC
The coffee was too sweet as I mentally sketched a blueprint for each sentence I hope to speak. My tongue eagerly bounced between the most eloquent wordings to express thoughts that even you probably know are too complex for me.
I firmly grasped my the frigid mason jar, afraid that the same twilight that illuminated all the right parts of your face and highlighted your rogues strands of hair like golden thread would be enough to knock me from my seat. If I explained that, would it be romantic?
I pondered whether geeky comedy could be my niche. Decided against it. My hands grew colder from icy condensation and hesitation.
Every calculated consonant passing through your lips becomes fuzzier as i balance my focus so you don't notice how distracting you are. I struggle to pretend this is effortless for me, too.
I wished with each passing moment that I weren't one moment closer to death, one less moment sipping sugary coffee in your company.
I wished each passing moment elapsed quicker. my coffee is dwindling, the lump in my throat is a landform in of itself.
Though I'd rather babble about the universe and love, history and life, your small talk captivated me. Vowel after vowel. Of ambient noise, you could compose symphonies, your stare a screenplay, of simple Walmart trips, novels.
Of me, I'm but the fly on the wall in a fleeting moment of daylight in a rocky chair in a café in a day of your life upon which I couldn't even confess that I think about you more than the universe and history and life and coffee. Until you know that, I'll see you next time and we'll order the coffee black.
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 2:51 PM UTC
A line exists between enchanting and haunting,
That can only be drawn by my feelings.
Throughout the nights unto the mornings,
I spill love for you with my wordings.
In hopes that some of them you might read,
My poetry lives, because my heart it bleeds.
And my heart it bleeds because of you,
Because of you my words have a muse.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 3:55 AM UTC
By now this Parable your Mind compels
At Arm's Point shift Targets your Heart's pursuit
Retrieve Correction; And a Soul which sells
A ****** whose Career begs his Debut
I'll leave it at that, your Frost-Fingered Friend
***** your Sphere to whose Raged Interest provide
And Ricin - the Elder's Pleading Tongue - rend
Hapless Wordings for your Sapling confide
Still, at this Level of your Tender Waves
Bring Olives made tasty for you to swallow
Just leave the Credit for your thoughts and saves
And let Inspiration plead you follow.
Put it down. Twenty Voices already cried
To carry their Lives; Of Illness has died.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
Mother of a thousand words to
get lost in, but the only one that
mattered to us boys was
"I love you all,
We respected her in motion but
were lost in testosterone wordings.
Never did we venture to disrespect
after all she taught us the ethics we
verse to day.
Life's lessons..
"Cooking,
"Ironing
Manners,
she sacrificed much,
so we are better in ourselves today.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 3:47 PM UTC
*
That place where
I find my BELOVEDz
That very place I learn
The biggest lesson of LOVE
Grappling with our emotions
Grappling with the contours
Of human consciousness
That is the place I roam
In my tatters - ***** loincloth
Seeking charity of my LOVE
Just to secure one glimpse
Of my BELOVEDz looking out for me
From the balcony grilled window
My BELOVEDz cries seeing me
Begging for her LOVE
That is the place
Where I sit down near the shrubs
To listen the loud-playing music
Booming out of the Beloved's window
Rendering LOVE's romantic BLUES
It is that place
Where I sit in the mud and
Listened the wordings of LOVE-lyrics
My BELOVEDz wants me to understand
It is where I eat the food that
BELOVEDz gives me every evening
It is where I drink
The water from a pitcher
My BELOVEDz leaves near
The last step of her staircase
Leading to her home
As I sip the soup
In the shade of a prickly bush
Nibbling at the dried bread piece
The remains from my BELOVEDz food
It was there I realize
In front of her abode where I sit
The taste and flavor of true LOVE
The hunger of AGAPE LOVE
My BELOVEDz is gracious to part
With me her silent wisdoms of LOVE
BELOVEDz' LOVE
- Is my education
- Is my penance
- Is my sacrifice
- Is my awareness
Now I know
LOVE is experiencing "love"
As a Unique "NOW"
*
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 12:33 AM UTC
Don't read this
I warn you
You might be able to relate too well to this
Huh still here are you
Alright I guess I'll have to go on then
My friend, my advice is simple
Never date a poet
Unless you want to be endlessly romanticized
To be able too see nothing but a torn form of affection for you and writing in the eyes
If you don't want the burden of being a never ceasing muse
Being paired with someone who's hearts taken all kinds of abuse
And if you abhor not talking, but constant wordings about what's truly on the brain
Then for the love of God don't do it, it'll drive you insane
So please, unless you want these things and aren't afraid to show it.
Then don't, Just don't date a poet
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
I've just written two hundred or so pages of prose.
I've cradled each word in my arms
And dreamed about their futures.
I've mapped out every interaction between the characters
I've created them and given them their instructions.
And they know what to do.
I've sent my multitudinous children off to the editor.
I've made sure all my wordings are whole
And healthy.
And I have made some mistakes on purpose, I must admit.
And I hope they distract the editor from noticing
I've emptied a dime-bag of ****** into the manuscript.
That should keep the little buggers reading.
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 11:38 AM UTC
I have been through stuff i wish i never had
I went through time i never imagined that
Sometimes words are not enough to say
Many a times situation is not in the way
I never want a pen in my hand
I never want to write down that went
People enjoy your wordings
People don't feel the pain behind
You can read my lines
But you can never see the bruises
I AM HIDING BEHIND.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC
Fall like leaves and wind and rain
the eyes that you control are pain
The rides that you have ridden gain
Momentum in your wordings strained
there is nothing to redeem the chained
Branded banded clamped and stranded
Depth of ire in your motions
Death and fire fill your oceans
Beckon more remain you frozen
More to store those cruel notions
Hammered gore glitters the roses
Phantom touches scoring open
Staring blankly, you've been noticed
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
beautiful wordings
written piece of time
a moment, that we can never hold
i ask you in my heart
do you beat yourself up constantly
spoiling your mood
like an undisciplined child
i tell you—
do not be undeterred
for being young
Nov 7, 2022
Nov 7, 2022 at 9:51 AM UTC
"Poetic Commenting!"
ABOUT.POEMING...REPLYING
It's Awardingly, deliciously, famously, stunningly, breaking newsy, Absolutely, Jubilantly, happily enjoying reading, this caring saying, type thing.. thing I be reading.
MY COMMENTING TYPE THING..
COMMENT FANTASTICS..
[email protected].. AND @2BE_ADORED BY SHARDAY3 NOT A WEB SITE..YIKES..
You gone need some wipes..
As I drizzle word writes.
slobing, goosing, spicy types.. word condiments ahh yeah compliments..
#on poetic worded trays. Of sautéed covered portrays.
You want more I know it. Deliciously shared blessings... Complimenting expressions.
We read, we write we excite. Then comes the coated candy explosions..
Got Sum, Give some, need sum.. reap some.
Appreciative funs.
Some after reads of applauses, where we add to the collective plates.
Telling the writers of his/her greats.
And ahh that moved me yes.. Ahh I felt that yes,,
Oh thats a--maz-zzing yes.
You did yah thing,, word bling.. sadly amusing, happily oozing, sorting and telling, wow all kind of juicy wordings..
I'ma put some sauce in my complimenting.
woot word cooking, sizzling starred shakes soothing and replying..
By s.a.m Sharday 2021 Much Work to be Done!
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 10:01 AM UTC
They should love me, so they should
Long and slender, short but good
Have I got it, what they need
Lust for beauty, not to breed
Sharp, in context, understood
Lovely wordings, so I would
Much perception, live beneath
Rusty weapon, sharpened sheath
Played against you, harp and string
Notes I give you, words I'd sing
Head so clouded, feet on earth
Destined wholesome, since that birth
Wide in image, not in hips
Perfect toenails, fingertips
Hollowed cheekbones, not in flesh
Simply lost on simple breath
Not to say perfection lingers
Once again I'm drawn by fingers
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 4:25 PM UTC
As you are just get going for a talk,
Few queries I have please do not balk.
Is this important , what do you speak?
People have issues, solutions they seek?
Or you have soapbox, desire to show,
What is inside , you need a window.
To ***** the all , which have been repressed,
For years days nights ,yet to be expressed.
It matters not whether, they make any sense?
Already so clamor , making it intense.
What solace you granting, while making this talk?
Or you need someone, with whom you can walk?
Think just one opinion can make someone fall,
If treated with care it, may shape someone tall.
Not always a weapon which wins a war,
Words can often be lethal and fatal at par.
Wordings are blessings and your asset too,
So use them with wisdom and not just a boo.
You know It is foolish to go for a walk,
Like Jackals in Jungle gather for talk.
Ajay Amitabh Suman: All Rights Reserved
Nov 28, 2021
Nov 28, 2021 at 1:57 AM UTC