POEM ARE PROOF (Proof Laid Bare)

Will a chiseled coconut ever be the same?
Were all my efforts held in vain?
If proof laid bare beneath your feet,
Would thoughts of limitations repeat?
Can blemishes conceal wounds and scars?
And pollution reveal the moon and stars?
Can life be what it was before,
When satisfaction is something more?
Will you be proud when work is done?
Or will Earth set still beside the Sun?

SHUT UP POEM (Bad Dating Account)

I was thinking of making an online dating account. 

Here's what it's gonna read:

I like long walks on the beach...

By myself. 

I enjoy romantic comedies*

I frequent the gym...

Every other year. 

I'm a sensitive guy...

Especially when talking about my sexual potential,

I'm very shy when it comes to that. 

I'm a great catch...

Because my sex appeal is that of a fish. 

*Bring tissues, a lot. 

I HAD SEX WITH A POEM (Rapists)

One-night stands
With rapists are
So crippling emotionally.
They always wait
So long to call
You back, and
It's always with such
A deep and exhausted
Voice like they're
Out of breath or tired.
Like they're not even
Excited to talk.

What we had was special!
Admit it, Tommy!

LIGHT OF THE WORLD POEM (You Scare Me)

Some people are afraid
Of the dark,

I'm afraid of the light.
It bullied me as a kid.
The girls always liked

Light a little bit more.

A POEM IS AN IDEA (Flowing Person)

Your person flows
Away from me
My idealized face
Envelops you.
definition lacking
from your grainy exterior
I don't even know you.
but my desires conform
to you, the object of confusion
i say my thoughts just delusion
Give it time be. restraints
to the path
can it really be you are
or am i looking for my Vision?
you are you, not what I think
a forged love interest

POEMS ARE ROBOTS (Free Will)

Call it free will:
We carve our own.
But actions tend towards
Not my own.
I want to reconcile
Choices to one,
But free will
I have none.
The best of both
Or the best of one:
Free will
I have none.

RHYTHMIC POEM (Work)

In a fit of fury, I laid my hand down;
Strewn onto earth, my broken crown.
It lies beneath my withered soul,
In lives of men both young and old.

My life has meaning beyond the throne:
Conscience mine, of theirs their own.
The land is high, it goes beyond
What my feeble soul can take for long.

Give me the best and I'll give you my all;
Give me a rest and I'll savor the call.
Ambitions my own, but the will not mine.
Workaholics are great, their essence a crime.

THE TITLE POEM (Unpeeled)

a poet's mind

peeled like an orange rind

pathways blind

leaking, absence of time

Will you see my face 

or just my inner-workings?

Give me life or give me death

a tragedy is lurking

the words surface to my mind

like a penny in a couch

Teeter on my Mind

deeper, deeper south. 

SO MANY POEMS (Bedside)

So prolific with
My untamed thoughts
I love it, it completes.
To you I will abide
Though my contentness
Depletes. Life leaves me
Be, or leaves
Me hanging.
My thoughts abound,
Forever waking
The unfinished by day,
Into ink by night
Sitting beside
My bedside Light.

I VENT IN POEMS (Diary)

I come to you,
In times of need.
In times of grief,
Your thoughts I need.
Transportation:
Into a muddled past.
The feelings here
Will never last.
Your mind is mine,
It ought to be.
Let it be,
The diary.

TITLES FOR POEMS ARE HARD (Untitled 3)

Frustration, elation
The same sensation?
It is the core of my worries
This painstaking fluctuation.
I humbly hate cynicism
For it cripples us all.
The free will of doubt and apathy
An accelerated fall.
Ignorance is bliss,
Where am I amiss?
The growl, the kiss,
Hope's red kiss?
It overrides my wants, overrides my
Leaps and bounds away                  care
Ambition glares
My thoughts the world's,
Generations stare.

POEMS ARE LONERS (Lonely People)

The lonely people:
Quiet and recluse,
What are they thinking?
I wonder if it
Be the same.
The fear or the unwillingness
Let me in.
Open thoughts roaming free
I try to be
But you are you
and he is he.
Neither him nor her
Knows we.

GIRL YOU TRIPPIN, POEM (Train)

the path closes

set like train tracks

deviations rare.

unless mere roadblocks interrupt

safety, regret

I want my life free. 

able to invade

peer into, pore through

the path is free

blinders enclosing

rural isolation

that's why i can't see.

to be alone is to be with you

ETHNIC POEM (La Tina)

If I marry a Hispanic
Woman and I have kids
With her, I'm gonna
Name my daughter
Tina. That way if my
Daughter meets anyone
Hispanic and she introduces
Herself, she can be like,
Hi, I'm La Tina. And
They will say Oh, what
Country are you from?

No, my name is Tina. 
La Tina is Spanish for
"The" Tina. I'm not just
Any Tina, I'm "The" Tina. 

Oh, wow you're really 
Confident aren't you. It's 
Kind of off-putting but
Also good at the same time. 

Did you realize that La
Tina in Spanish is actually
The Tub in English? Shoot,
That puts a wrench in my plan

For my daughter future scenario.
Spanish-speakers should have
Thought this through better.

POEMS ARE ETERNAL (Eternal Contempt)

Live your life 

For it to be eternal

Prolonging what you call happiness

So that those in contempt

Can lay below you 

In eternal pain. 

You are better than them.

Your choices are solid and golden.

They deserve what they desire. 

You deserve what they really desire.

Their suffering distant, 

Contained, not yours

Out of reach, your happiness free. 

Emotions partitioned,

Eternal, free,

You say they serve

What they did was their own. 

Live in eternal bullshit

Eternal pleasure, 

Silencing eternal moans. 

WORDS ON A PAGE ARE POEMS (Interview)

I'm beginning to think I am
Underdressed because everyone
Else looks nice. I guess not
Necessarily because my button-up
Shirt looks just as nice as their
Plaid shirts and khaki pants
And nice shoes and such.

Maybe they just look more astute
And formal because they are white
And old. Also a lot of them are
Wearing glasses and have old
People smiles and glares like
They're talking to each other
And saying, Really? No way, 

Me too. That's great that such a 
Development in your life has
Happened Jeremy! I'm glad
We are catching up. But I
Sit here with my old shoes
Waiting for someone I do not
Know. All these paintings make

Me feel like I am in the
Renaissance or in some old rich
Person's house. I hope when
HeShe comes that I look good and
SheHe goes Cool, this kid is a 
Nice kid and probably listens to
His parents. And I will say

Things like, No way, Really?
Me three! That's such a weird
Coincidence. And HeShe will
Think, Wow, he feigns such
Interest in my noninteresting 
Conversation. I am interesting
I never knew that.

I DIGRESS, A POEM (Introversion)

Introverts have it easy
Their mind does not wander,
At least not past the bounds of comfort,
Of their own means.
I crave attention and people
Yet I crave sanity, and comfortability.
But my comfort lies in the hands
Of the fickle, shaky, crumbling down
Til my ashes are wet with an inability
For rebirth like the phoenix.
Sometimes I want to be alone with no interaction
But then I tire of lonesomeness.
I want it all, but someone to share it with.
My name heard, taught after my death.
I hate that concern, death is release
From the world not a constant
Marveling at false accomplishments.
Such a weird wish too, to be known
After death it's like predestination, we'll
Never know it to be true because
You're dead when you learn the truth.

POEMS ARE A THOUGHT IN TIME (Untitled 2)

The thoughtful are deprived
For their thoughts consume them
Rather than their body
Consume active stimuli,
Therefore introversion gives way to thought.

YOU ARE A POEM (Schizophrenia)

Stop telling me to read this poem! No,

These people are my friends.
Fine, I will but I don't
See any knives around.

Don't be scared.

KNOWLEDGE IS FOUND IN POEMS (Know1edge)

Prominent mathematician and
Famed artistic scholar Biggie Smalls,
Has deduced the following theorem:
According to nominal theory
And repeated conjecture,
Following the increase
Of money, it may seem
That a direct correlation
Involving a sharp rise in
Problems will occur. The
Exponential increase
In problems reaches a limit at
99. Of course, adds Jay-Z, this
Conclusion is made void when
Bitches are substituted or mixed
With the independent variable,
Money, this conjecture proves invalid.

POEMS ARE LIKE LIFE (Life is a Game)

Life sucks, and
Then you die.
Or better put: Life sucks, and
Then you discover Life Cinnamon,
Which is slightly better,
Then you die.

Or even better put: Life sucks, and
Then you park your
Car at Countryside Acres or
Millionaire's Estate and wait
For the game to end,
Then you pack up the board game
And age slowly, then
You die.

I think there was something left out of this common phrase too:
Life sucks, and
Then you die,
And in between these two
Events your cynicism has
Greatly reduced
The quality of life for us
Optimists. Thanks,
Cynical asshole.

Or an alternate version:
Life sucks, and then
You die, but
I receive eternal life, because
I am a righteous Christian,
And you are
A heathen, barbarous fool.

POEMS CAN BE SAD (Despair)

The convalescence of emotion,
Bleeding of the heart
Causes rising of its oceans.
Broken ships of lovers depart;
Leaves fall.
Fall turns to winter
Covering broken hearts
That lost love has splintered.
No cure found,
Growing like cancer
Limitless, no bounds.
Questions with no answers
Numbed feelings
Novocaine smothers.
Caring eyes directed
Towards depressed eyes receded,
The heart only heals
Through other hearts' beatings.

WHO WROTE THIS POEM (Fruits of Desire)

I once new this
Woman. Her name was
Desiree. We called her Dez,
For short. Apparently, she discovered
A fruit very similar
To a pear.
She called it the Dez-pear.
The seeds were called
Pits of Dez-pear. You could buy Dez-pears
For two dollars a pound. Dez
Invested much money into the fruit.
The fruit was commercially
Unsuccessful because of the name.
Last time I saw Desiree, she
Was living in a box, eating a Dez-pear.
She threw a bunch of
Pits of Dez-pears at me in
A crazy fashion. I
Called the police.

SO MANY POEMS (Everything)

What we know
Is everything
That's why there's nothing left.
Sleep calls, the future calls, experience calls
And we answer.
To me it is scary, but solitary.
I just want that.
My steady path towards introversion:
A yellow brick road towards sanity.
But maybe the end is deceiving likewise


Why do we crave recognition?
We can't see ourselves when we're dead.
I still yearn for it.

THIS POEM IS NOT TEMPORARY (Contemplation on Life)

I love my life
Because pain is temporary.
I hate my life
Because the good times escape.
Looking back
I have nothing to look forward to.
Maybe I can place an event in
The future, to fill the void.
Why can't my future be valued
On elation, in joy?
Even stability can be frightening.
If life were just more crooked
Then maybe that would be appealing too.
The experiences we yearn for
I wonder if they are necessary.
Will they improve my quality
Of life?
That's why an afterlife has to be there.
Shouldn't the opportunity
To fluctuate between good and bad
Be ever-present?
Or else life cuts off at either
A good or bad ending
Which doesn't seem very fair.
Life can then be labelled as only
Two words, regrets or fulfillment.
It should not be labelled,
Or complete.

FEEL OBLIGED TO READ THIS POEM (Obligations)

I'm obliged to follow,
I'm obliged to think,
Obliged to return
The forged link.
But to wait is foolish,
To wait is lacking;
Keep the line steady,
The border is cracking.
Between the realm
Of the active and lazy
Lies a compelling force
That keeps me brazen.
The force cripples,
The force blinds
To a life silent
Contained to the mind.
My obligations flutter
Around persistent thoughts,
A tabled feeling,
An ellipsed dot.
Leisure's distant,
It keeps its space.
Productivity
Took its place.

TELL ME A POEM (Tell me)

Tell me, is there always something waiting.
Day turns to day, but the
Night continues.
Purpose is a goal, but a goal just
Residue. Life's cycle just a cyclist
Pedaling without end.
Run Forrest run
To feel what is unnecessary.
Let it be
But what will it become?
Pain trembles the still waters
Of neglect, or hope?
I wish indifference could spark faith.
Not without providence

POEMS ARE ME (All I have)

I am
      What I
What I       am
           am                                  Am I
Something  I am                             nothing?
          that
Knows
          not what it is

                         So many
                         Acquaintances
Acquaintance      I have but
                         No friends
                 Family    Family
Family
         Myself  Myself  Myself              My Goals
Family
               Family  Family             Girl

Acquaintance
                       Acquaintance

MY LAST POEM, JK (The Last)

On a bed
Trapped inside my head
I am dead. Maybe
Not a bed, maybe a
Box or wooden-colored
Coffin with my feet
Outstretched  and my toes
Curled. If you find me
Don't find my will or
Conduct an autopsy
Or poke my dead body
With a stick like
A pre-pubescenet
Pack of teenage
Wolves, but they are
Just kids. Take my
Journals and my
Other journals and
Glue your eyes to
The sticky inked paper
And read and then
Read then contemplate
Then read again then
Spread,

            Them to other
People and say this guy
Is dead but he
Wrote a lot of jokes
And poetry and
They are kind of cool:
"You should publicize
This stuff, wow. And
That kid was like
Seventeen? Maybe
He was a genius or
Something?" And then
They will not be mine
But the whole world's
Preserved on paper
With ink and terrible
Penmanship that some
People will not know
How to read, but
They will try.

POEMS ARE WEIRD (Priorities)

If only priorities were actually
     needs not wants, not desires stacked in order like children's blocks I don't need to be good at
          at basketball i need motivation but the motivations fuels another priority a want, the want to
               impress colleges I enjoy playing basketball enough pleasure for me to classify it as a need
                    but it is more fun when the prioritization of it is taken away I'd rather it be a leisure
                         I need sleep, food and one can say friends because relationships counter insanity
                              but why can't i channel my wants even like a weighing scale My schedule
                                    would be simple and not so structure but my needs at the core Sometimes
                                        i want to throw prioities out the window but it seems so would my
                                             sanity,
             

RANTINGS OF AN OLD MAN SOUND LIKE A POEM (Abbbbcddddeeee)

Weighing my options
Work or pleasure
Such a boundless measure
Confused, sunken treasure.
A faithful, foreboding endeavor
I've always wished it to stop,
Though my mind keeps spinning.
Ambitious lies, a faithless underpinning
Life goes on , it appears I'm winning.
Hopefully the smile, stays grinning.

The work speeds, the pace slows
Where I'm going no one knows.
The present drags, the future glows
Where I'm going no one knows.

UNA POEMA (Keys)

Accepted?
No, congested.
A life continually tested
The space never available
Humans don't fit in
A jigsaw neverending.
The door is closed
For someone, somewhere
Hands tired from pushing.
Let the accepted
Receive their keys,
But stay locked to the foreign
Keeping their steady smiles
Just with their closest friends.
The line   continues
On, but the key for the door
Is in your hands
The more the merrier.

POEMS ARE PLANETS (Waxing Gibbous)

The Moon turning slowly
Over like a sunny-side
Up Breakfast, is just a
Phase.

Green hair receding
Back til wilted and
Cut with dead ends
In their coffins
As the head rotates
Once again, is just a
Phase.

Muddied shoes and
Rockstar hair and
Music that pierces
Ears til bloody,
Earwax protecting, is
Just a
Phase.

Picking and scratching
As the weight piles
Down but he
Still reaches for
The Future
He lays
Down because he
Thinks he is finished, it
Is just a
Phase.

Nearby a ladder
Hides in the grass
And he picks it
Up for it will make
His reach taller
And he relinquishes
That surrender previous
To start a new Phase.

He climbs and climbs
And stumbles, and
Loses footing, but
His feet make contact
With a plastic shelf
And he leans forward
To point and grab,
Then turns away
When inches cannot close
In. Maybe, it is
Just a
Phase.

Inches of air
Separate like
Lilypads floating,
So he leaps
Taking hold of
An imaginary
Foothold that
Seems stable.
And he stays
and struggles,
Body trembling;
He looks down
And up, and
Never down again.
It is not a
Phase. His mind
Is fixed, in
Focus like a
Camera. Never
Again will it be
Just a
Phase.

THIS POEM SUCKS (Puzzle)

I'd rather that routine preoccupy
Than doubt destroy
Distractions of uncertainty
Continually employed
So much work ahead of me;
A hermit's life
Future and present:
The unwed wife.
To be hedonistic,
Keep the cup full
Gazing at the future
Dripping slowly, drool.
Fun is temporary
But more meaningful.
I like to keep it simple,
A one-piece puzzle.

YOU'RE DREAMING WHILE READING THIS POEM (Dreaming)

Life is but a dream?
It is yet more pleasant.
Wake up before the dawn
Rather I'll sleep til the present.
Let it be til the next day
Easier to avoid it.
Smother my waking thoughts
Lest the candle be lit.
The escape, the two
One and the same
Though one within
Receiving equal fame.
The real takes precedent
Fantasy more appealing
Manifesting itself more clearly
Yet unfoundedly councealing
Night and day.
Enter the fray,
Stumbling into battle.
Life and fate
The incessant babble.

JUST A LINK

Poets Who Blog

AWSUM POEM (Coin Flip)

Normally that which gets me down
I'll flip to the opposite attraction.
The attachment once though stable
No I am free, unrestricted.
Give me the options, to which I say
Which delicacy will I choose?
I just hope the options wide
Because this period of time
May cause much seclusion.
Hopefully this dependent delusion
Subside, not deride my
Stumbling pursuits.
The downturn still pervades somewhat
But look at the positive.
Release you passion untamed
Displace on whoever I please.

POEMS EVOKE SOMETHING (Untamed)

Victimless crimes
Because the victim is unnamed.
Uncertain, unfounded, such a sly mechanism
The fault floats cautiously
But never reaches its destination.
No one at fault, no blame to give
Resolution possible, two lives to live
Take the blame, bear the cross
For the other's is much too shaky,
Their's nonexistent but unknown to them.
Negative thoughts of oneself are impossible.
Can one's effort be
Of bad intention?
Not when the basis be of help
Judging situations, not another.
Fault is displacement, blame the escape
Given the time. The situation resolves.
Only the victim can be absolved.

MEOP A SI SIHT (Enigma)

The cryptic.
Give the code substance.
A log, a record
The world before
A hazy folklore.
My thoughts steps
Leading to a
Picture. Not even
A thousand words
But floating influences
Complexes, spheres, waiting
Unconscious just released,
Willing to be contained.
They give way,
But push back.
Happiness is all relative.

YOU ARE IN A DREAM WHILE READING THIS POEM (Delusions)

Scenarios endless
By a producing intimidator:
My adolescent brain.
The one must most comfortable
To me is the correct
But a weary mind
Gives way to fantasy,
Fantasy of the type that depresses.
It negates the enjoyments that
Previous experience has dictated.
Your mind is too fickle,
Letting impossibilities or
Unlikelihoods come to fruition only under
The fact that your frustration
Allowed the very thing feared to happen.
Let it happen seems such an obstacle
When that is the basis
Of sheer happenstance,
But something so troubling and
Enviable to the heart
Is so readily pushed for
Though its occurrence inevitable.
Let the heart dictate the mind
Not the other way around
For the mind is a primordial
Ooze of self-denial
Stifling hope.

READ THIS POEM BEFORE YOU SLEEP (Sleep)

My shackles withdrawn
From their brawny pursuits
My brain silent and safe.
Simple tasks to compute
An escape so tender
But falsely ingrained.
Harmless the harmful
It renders the pain.
My happier days
Just a happy daze
Stringed up just to fray
So to sleep I lay
Awaiting the link to
Jumpstart my aura.
Til then a veiled constraint
I feel my life discouraging
Touched with dirty taint.
Just let me be
But the world is important

A POEM ABOUT WEAKNESS (Speak up)

The meek shall inherit the world;

Such a gross misconception

For the meek's voice is muffled, 

Trapped in a skull 

Of wisdom? Not without action

Not without the will, the way

The courage to foresee, but to cause

To encase a thought in a book

In an opportunity took. 

Arrogance is attention

Arrogance is expediency

Though shot down from its pedestal. 

Stay humble

But keep the rock sharp

And the slingshot steady.

The meek are calm, but never

Ready. 

DISGUSTING POEM (Cynicism)

It figures that those without
Can scarce be with.
But with hope they pray;
One hanging by the cliffs
Has no bed to lay.
It is funny how the rich pray
For riches
Yet the poor man a slice
For the bread crumb will suffice.
There a folly it becomes to doubt the world
When one's riches of privilege
Not a distant pearl
But a constant pleasure.
Cynicism: a royalty
Cause what is hope for
Those which need none?
Where does the race go
For those with no wish to run?

REGRETFUL POEM (Past, No Less)

My regrets are few
But mistakes are many.
Cost me my life
For no less than a penny.

The actions taken back,
Lessons to be unlearned
Would lessen my value
No matter how piercing the burn.

Our trials a sum,
Experiences a measure,
The cup full with trouble
Filled equal with pleasure.

For good comes with bad,
An uncanny mix.
Choices dealt the upper hand
Playing their dirty tricks

But glorious the attempt
And past becomes past.
Then the deed be done,
An imprint upon life's cast.

Lend me your gentle hand
Chance's gentle caress.
What's done is done
No more, no less.

POEMS ARE OUTDATED (Word)

Attachments hard to break
Something I like
Treated as trite
Covered from might.
That word has a stigma
So my feelings an enigma
But I want the seal
An enhanced deal.
Just an unlabeled situation
Without association,
The step must be made.
If a deal it to be reached
Take the risk, the trouble.
Can't see the future with a Hubble
Just hope for the response
Til then the focus remains
On a creature self-tamed.
Life is a file cabinet
When priorities are recognized.
Truth in self, the rest is lies.

SHUT UP WITH POEMS (Woah)

Love and lust combined
Faith to the blind resigned.
Pleasure wells from inside
But thoughts of permanency override.
Can it last to the limits?
Cause restraint inhibits
If I try my mind won't quit
But blows too hard to persist.
Truly a trivial pursuit
Loose soil release my roots.
The poison ignites
But a response incites
My passion my fervor.
Give back, give to me
Illicit my advances
My amateur romances
Grab it, seal it.

I HATE POEMS (Acquainted)

Friendship is stability.
Who's there when I look around?
You there engage me
Cause those who aren't here escape me.
Please frequent my being
In mind and in person
Or else I have nothing.
Guess that's why my feelings sustain
Even wrought by pain, empty gain.
My mind needs residency permanent
Whether it be comforted elation
Or tormenting lament.
I just want something to think about
Not tests of worthless merit.
Thoughts have no home to a shell
Just meandering hermits
Because life keeps me waiting
For what my weak soul permits
But there's so much more.
Just peer into my carmelized core
It's empty.

STANDARD POEM (Standards)

Test after test
Compounded by the test
After next.
What's worth proving
But worthless insolence.
One to another til it's done

POEM$$$$ (Timmy)

Steered away by reclusive abandon
From possibilities many
I just want to be alone
These distractions petty.
My mind weary, world a haze
Perpetuated by Timothy O'Leary.
Let it all be, give me peace.
Surround me with nothing, absence my need.
Burnt with no candle, steering no handle
My life on a string, tensed, braided
Just let it dangle.
God's a cat, playing with my brain.
Let it entertain, but not tangle.

CRAP POEM (Slumber)

Stress imprisons,
Sleep the key of escape.
Mind incisions
Skin soft, sticky like tape

Deserve praise
There's so much to loose.
Apathy, malaise
Life a book, strangely perused.

A bedroom
Isolated by indifference.
Come through.
Deep to the core, no hindrance

Bliss impaired
I feel a presence.
Life's fair
My motivation was lent.

POEM? YES (Untitled)

What am i but a hardened and crusted over hermit that shed his shell when cruel and tough jabs broke through until molten chitin slithered off slowly You stare in awe when things to do make you surprised at an outcome other than my expected survival rate But laboriously my thoughts bursted through until hardened once more and the shell reformed with more girth and fortification I hope you perceive differently and that my new form looks smeary and hallucinatory like a shroom cloud tripping on acid Because it is not just to judge then cringe at the new sight of change When change is more than just a subtle reply to light and unfulfilled expectations

SO MANY POEMS (Pathway)

Tears flow across the body
Down through the vessels of spirit
Reaching fallow lands of deprivation
Providing nutrients to the needy
Breaking the floodgates of the weary.
Eyes closed, til tears open
Cleansing the impurities of pain.
Now eyes pure of innocence
To reach the new blood of the pure
Until dirtied by unseen pathogens
Til the process repeats by the
Unwanted reflex
Of the downward flow of water emotion.

A POEM IS THIS SAID YODA (Dead Future)

Sometimes I wish to just not try
As if this life were a turgid lie.
Held together by the will of my existence
This life if it may burst
Maybe will reside in a book-like Hearse
Imprinted in vision and permanence,
But only if my life carries worth.
That's why my attempts are
Filled to the brim with girth
And energy abounds, so I am noticed.
The benefits seen though in a posthumous
Daydream.

THE TITLE IS POEM (Ambition)

Trying for the impossible, please lengthen
My reach.
Arms tire from overexterion
The composite life of many, but I'm one
Person
The dreams, the gleams of a better life
Rather than settle.
A life contained, steaming, coming through
Eyes red, exerted, lungs blue.
Feed me success, cover my naked
Soul with contemptible dress.
Ambition cease! This dog walks without
A leash.

I WANT POEMS FOR DINNER (Ended relations)

Severed ties from broken lies
Apathy on the rise, too many failed tries
No mending the cut, from words unspoken.
Stay with me, promises broken.
Push it deeper I'd rather say.
On speaking terms, not until another day.
I guess I'm free from a loveless incarceration.
The stability would prevent me from unstable elation.
It'll come again if the tides follow
But back towards the inner sea, my tears
Fall to lands fallow.
Til then I'll wait, hold confidence as bait.
Search of traits, just a fabricated fate
Who needs it? No one.

YO, THIS IS A POEM (Nonsense)

Uncertainty boggles down the unconscious
Into a hole of unknown.
Why think what cannot be seen?
Life becomes a glimpse of a dream
Absent of REM.
It's not a cycle
Without repetition.
Write the script
Or ponder the definition.
Are my thoughts yours?
No direction, unguided tours
A religion, a prescription
Unlicensed doctors with pens
Hiding in an enclosed den
Scribbling nonsense mixed with imagery.
Hands grow limps and weary
As minds turn to slumber.
Eyes fall to the dreary
World's trust converted to a clearing
Now in the light my eyes blind.
Cut the string before it unwinds.

MAS POEMAS SPANISH FOR MORE POEMS (Contentness)

Constance of chance
Entranced by a solidified stance
Of contentness
Measures preventive
Constructive to enforce,
Nervousness for retort
Happiness they report.
My mind contorts, to
Changing circumstance.
Relaxed absence
Emotions friends lent
Built up intent.
Of lending a supportive hand.
My mind clear, it can.
Life straight, empty plan:
Stress spent at time's expense
For the time being,
I am content.

*POEM* (The Apical Bud)

Why to be
Branches of a tree?
One alike though no two
Not complete but so are you.
Mitosis of thoughts
Divergent into the night
Don't cut it down
Just fertilize the life.
Branches bushy
For all the lost souls
People we don't know
Evils pollute the
Nutritious art of stifled growth.
But the farmer comes to nurture
Help us even though
As old age goes on
The withering tramples unceasing.
Don't cut it down,
Water our roots.

MORE POEM (Apathy)

Morals cast aside,
Strewn open book
Innocent bystanders
Standards took
Please lift the veil
Of unconscious apathy.
Fill the pot of guiding tides,
Direct towards pleasant thoughts
With purposeful lavish strides.
God is a wall
From fires ablaze.
Good intentions covered
With a murky haze

STOP WRITING POEMS (Stop)

Soft as a bristled bark
Music mutes my surroundings.
My ears are broken?
No, transmissions pulsate
I like this song.
Go to sleep
Like a drunk baby
On an airplane.
Electronic sounds
Revitilization, no coffee
Stop texting me my feelings.
Numbness feels funny
Go away please.
I can't let it develop
As if I lack money
To go to Costco.
Atmosphere surrounds me
In two senses.
I don't like this want
One time but hope for a second
Seconds last only seconds,
Maybe that's where the term's from.
Stop thinking.
Stop about her
Please.

ILIKEPOEMS (Comparisons)

I try
But comparisons
Fuel imagery
Before I die.
But time lost
In thoughtless fury
A set of ideals,
But idealized by paper
Cut from trees.
Abstract from real:
But modern art sucks
For a nominal fee.
Positions but no grid,
A buyer with no bid,
Grip preceding skid,
Open the lid.
Pandora's box is full
Start being real.
Dumb Ideals

RUNNING OUT OF TITLES - POEM (47th)

Blinding light lead me right,
Coals burn in the heat of night.
Uptown in the world of trite
Lies the power of unbridled might.
Inner city tantrums
Overarching phantoms of union
Separate spheres
One area in many
Once upon a time,
Future held in decisions not mine
Down to the 47 of a 50 kind.

POEMS R COOL (Consume Me)

Consumption of thoughts
Distract, detract.
Enhanced by romance
Forgetting majority
All I can think.
Getting rid of kinks.
What matters of
The madhatters or flatterers

THIS POST IS A POEM (Blurred)

I remember
that it didn't happen.
I feel it
A glimpse of a smoother reality
refined by framed morality
Faces blurred
by pixels
Hurried through closed vision
Divergence of the stream
I can't see you
til the future.
If you're not direct
Where are you?
How are you real?
No expression, facing the wall
If you never seek me
You'll disappear.
Gone, just gone
I can't bear that.
Take a picture
Damn, no camera.

TOPICAL POEM (Gatsby)

Pen of sword
Call of lord
Death by Ford
Gatsby afford

Wealth in eyes
TJ polluted skies
Futile tries
Daisy's lies

Stifled cries
Assorted ties
Unbridled reprise
Illusionary enterprise

Speedy fall
Stomped tall
Lost all
Bearing pall

NOT A POEM (In Class)

My world constrained
Or opened up, for
Sleep confines
My broken luck.
Gazing dry,
A sitting duck.
My body free:
Out, it plucks.
Inhibits, releases; the limits it reaches.
Waking, it leeches; my mind, I keep it.
Free I feel
To escape this world
But a hindrance long
Keeps me still.
No bed to lay,
No foe to slay,
I want to sleep
Please end this day.

EVERY POST HAS THE WORD POEM IN IT (Baby Shower)

A hope stretched a thousand miles,
A weary traveler's dream
To tread the ground of salvation
Guided by an effervescent gleam.

Entry into the future of a nation,
A step into the convictions of others
Born into a home of ancients
Conceived by a surrogate mother

Throughout the night and day
Holy trials befouled him.
To reach the land of sight
Ambled by careful limb

Animals gather to bless
A preacher clothed in dismay,
No room for him in the world of others.
Bathed with straws he lays.

A sight to see for all
Though blinded by the light.
Saints exalted him on high,
The purity of God and his might.

IT IS A POEM (Decadence 2)

The treacherous depth of a pleadingly
Innocent bay,
Swallowing the words of a
Score of men with a single grasp.
Woe unto them? Or be it the
Ridiculing wants of the beggar?
Seeking endless pleasure in a decadent
Sea
Treasury or treachery?
Far beyond the bellows
Of a worthy cause.

BANANA, JK POEM (Sonnet)

Your beauty be as great as seven seas:

Waters only traversed by willing men

Who withstand waves that rock the ship with ease. 

Some men may stay locked up in the ship's den,

Others embrace oceans and turn their heads.

Many a man will see a new-found per'l.

Men who are not wise will be left for dead. 

When sea is conquered they find precious pearl. 

But I was not a man who followed rules. 

I meandered away from open wat'r

And sought to search for other-wordly jew'ls.

You have valid cause to see another.

Men trust yourselves and trust your loving wife,

Or watch your spouse be torn away from life.  

WHAT IS IT? A POEM (Decadence)

Why must I be so decadent?
Fulfilling primal desire.
The stench of self-pleasure, pungent
Sinking lower, feeling higher

POEM(S) (11:08)

If you

   Looked into

                               My room

                                                It would

                                                    Be such

                                              A miscellaneous

                                                     Array

                                       Of

                                    Weird

                                 Items.

                            Strayed

                     Across, about

                              And free,

There is no        direction.

                     Can you see me underneath

The clutter

                    And

                          So many

          Things. (Time, is all I spend).

...NOT A POEM, JUST KIDDING (Want)

Strong and magnetizing.

            A want

     So variant and pleasing.

  In the night

             Day breaks to a close,

                       Inching inward. 

A POEM 2 (Pathways)

L   azy

                What’s next, no one’s around

I   ntuitive

                The form pure, refinement purer

F   un

                Burnt to the core, life is golden

E   ager

                Keep the oven lit, something is brewing

K   een

                On the prowl, the lion said

E   nding

                I can’t wait, break it

E   ntry

                Let me in, what can I do

P   urpose

                So oblivious, it keeps changing

S   eeing

                Everything will be better, no other possibility

G   oals

                Stacking up, such fragility

O   pportunity

                It passes slowly, grasp tightens

I   need

                Other people, stay close

N   ever

                Because life can’t be short

G   uilt

                A plague worsens, to weak

O   nly

                Keys are fingerprints, locks are singular

N   urture

                Your life, at the expense of mine

F   orgive

                None other, than myself

O   lder

                The aging, will stop

R   etrieve

                What is ours, once

E   ndure

                Keep it coming, wait

V   illify

                Self-evaluation, faulty

E   xpect

                More, but it is overwhelming

R   eally these are the same, the lock

                Fits many keys, unfortunately not

                The reverse.

TITLED POEM (Consciousness)

Interestingly bizarre, the feeling

          

                Though still intact.

                     The feeling coincides

       

           With but never leaves

 

   My mind.

         Blackness, so vividly

                 Lucid, but reddened

By steaming glares.

    And I cannot sleep, cannot

                                       Dream.

          But I will

      Wait for the world

To turn round til seasick

  

    With dizziness.

                                  So

       It will be, que sera,

  

         Until the last laugh dies,

  

             A disabled hoorah.

I THINK IT'S A POEM (Trampled in Procession)

There he lays upon

The torn path,

Care-free and cut off

From continuity,

Lifted from the eye of scrutiny through

Conscious abandon.

Burning, blazing with fiery intensity.

Fleeing, scurrying with stumbling reproach.

Priorities competing, but one with

Which to coast.

Another free, glaring with disdain

Unearthed but smothered

With dust, shatters with disbelief but rather untrust.

So, she shouts “What if!”, leaning

Towards an indifferent crowd.

But on

And on we march, assertively

Trampling the remains

Of uncertain maturity.

Scheming together, in empty halls

We conspired.

We neglected her, a barrier

To the future, riddled

With roses, on shiny pavement.

Formless, but clean, binding

With effervescent gleam. Cracking

Open, sunken eyes

                    In a dream,

She awakens.

She is undone, the dress lays undone.

Just a mask, an unnecessary cloth.

Just let it lay down upon the soft

Floor until the new

Freedoms receive

Its touch

        Waiting patiently for naught.

And it goes without words to let her tears grow colored leaving

Fears horned sharply.

Leave her be, he will continue.

Trees and leaves are scattered

Kings and queens and jesters

And beheaded fools

And they reach out, with open palms: respectful with sunken stares

While direction remains relative and he pitter patters along a path.

He is.

Veiling untold fears, a shrouded curtain. Worries poke through,

Scratching with jagged nails. They

Bore through, tearing

Seams without fail.

Seeping through, a streaming face

White and pale, naked, bare,

Unclothed, yet uncouth, trembling

To crumbles, a shaken youth.

Trailing the train of unwed

Followers, they grasp for rice,

And leftover desires, while

Neglected in muddy terrain,

In swamps, mired.

Scheming together, in empty halls

We conspired

To let the needy fall behind weeping

Upon the gown.

As sheer mesh rips free, and hair grows

Gray once revealed

Man

Falls through, until again concealed,

Upon the ground, nowhere found,

There he lays

Resting,

Beside his jagged crown.

POEM (Neighbors)

The grass is greener on the other side,

Though trampled well by active strides.

The well grows thin from frequent gulps,

But well-kept green breeds slow lulls.

I wish to lay on grass so green;

Give me your thoughts, my ear leans.

The fence forebodes the foreign sight:

My life an even, fitting height.

Our niches never intertwined;

Ropes taut, I toe the line

But I will never cross the fault.

The barrier leaps, my reach small.

Exchange our feelings, keep our goods.

Yours is yours, from wood to wood.

The grass be mine, where water’s full;

I’ll save my rights, take back your pull.

A POEM? (Revolution)

Government is a wanton fire

Taming shrewd impersonal desire.

Because likes uncommon to common man

Bound a weary, ambitious, and troubled land.

Unto all a decree set forth

To set their opinions free,

But want is a dominion of higher lords

Than a simple man can ever be.

Mind can fuel hasty revolt

By efforts from injustice ensued;

The shells of permanency molt,

Dissolving from dissent accrued.

Trust catalyzes a bond acquired,

Not mutual disdain though both liars.

Wantonness is lost as thoughts come direct:

Independence just a caste, a utilitarian subject.

A DIFFERENT POEM (Fickle Emotion)

Doubt is fleeting,

Fear overcome

By little chance.

Heart slows its beating,

Need is gone,

Emotions a dance.

Thoughts are trivial,

While unspoken future

Dictates unknown.

Moments pivotal,

Wounds they suture,

By tolerance grown.

                                My mind goes on

Towards a feeling it’s flown.

                                Where is it going?

                The constance of life bemoans.

The stress, it all comes down,

Just a relative mass

Until replaced by a nearby crown.

Do I feel my feeling?

Or is it circumstance?

So startling, is

The outer peeling of happenstance. 

ONCE AGAIN ANOTHER POEM (Phantoms of Memory)

You were there

And now you’re not.

Sleep born against fate,

You come alive in nights late.

I hate you

But you’re not there.

Are my tears

Trapped by a fragile frame

Of nothingness?

Just memories,

Open tremors

Why do I miss you?

You shouldn’t exist.

Phantoms,

They pursue and persist.

No book to peruse,

Sleep’s army enlist.

Can I just replace your face,

In a race to retrace four months of my life

That feel so sacred?

It’s gone, you’re gone:

Holes in a cloud,

Particles in space.

ANOTHER POEM (Spaghetti Economy)

Prosperity repelled

Like a magnet:

Jobs distant,

Charges polarizing,

Relationships also.

But the search

Becomes profound,

A search for symbols

Of security, of wealth, that seems to create.

But fissures need to be filled

With stacks of cash

Bundled with spaghetti

Prepared by the housewife,

Strained with a pot of strife,

Covered with unfulfilled life.

An economy hungry for spaghetti,

My family needs spaghetti.

Cash tastes like bitter coffee

Charging the soul towards hope.

A POEM (Cement Grave)

Listless

I'm bliss-less

Going free, I'm chainless

I tire of length,

Of endless banter

Of a place that tides

Towards boundless answers.

Peaceful being

Of greening pastures

Paved over by heat-absorbing mats

Decaying homes, crumbling with angst

Instant and tranquil by a large pang

Ringing ears, bleeding innards

Pine needles and dust

Against peeling rust

Eternally prospering

Succumbing to greed, and lust.

I'll give it meaning

in future pretenses.

Cringing with power 

Over perpetual fences,

Ends aching

Greed breaking

Reality strays, stitches fray

On green pastures we will lay.