Discussion:
Poems: 061011 and 181011 October 6 and 18th 2011
(too old to reply)
Robert Morpheal
2011-10-24 04:24:28 UTC
Permalink
Raw Message
061011A
------------

It is the ones who cheat you
when you do not have much,
that really hurt you the most.
They only want to cut you
to watch you bleed.

Keep coming through
every time that you can,
but it is never enough.
It is the odd time you cannot
that always kills you.

All you have left is your self importance,
being important to no one,
with countless others always ready
to step in and take your place,
leaving you nothing but your solitude.

The choices you would have made
became never your’s to really make.
What they said to bid you up,
was only to watch you fold.
You never had a winning card to play.

Living on the fringes
of a place called Might-have-been,
you can only get to Nowhere
when you start out from Here,
and that is a very long way to go.

----------------------------------------

061011B
------------

Whatever they give,
they always take away.

It is the way the knife goes in,
and comes out again.

The only situation
that you can ever be sure of.

It is the way the spear penetrates
and is withdrawn again.

They always put a hole in you,
that you can never fill.

When you put something in,
you always have to take it out again.

It is a pattern that repeats,
but eventually loses its meaning.

Your entire life is in motion
from one hole to another.

You have to go in and out again,
but there is never any satisfaction.

-----------------------------------------

191011A
-----------

You begin to wonder what words really mean.
Some of them defy all interpretations.
The word “interesting” being one such example.

Martin Heidegger said it was inter esse,
something about being among beings,
but you wonder what that really comes to being.

Being and becoming whatever it means to be,
when someone always wants you to become different
than you ever could, and will not even say what.

To be or not to be, and the becoming are said attractive,
if they are really becoming, into being something,
but you never get to know what it is like to get there.

You do not know your being from your becoming anymore,
never really given to being anything you wanted to be.
Cannot wipe the illusions fast enough off of your mirror.

The only one you ever get any real interest from
is the banker, and that is precious little if anything.
A little interest in your dwindling paltry scratch.

Scratching out a living whenever you can,
pecking at what there is, same as a dumb bird,
waiting to get its neck wrung.

Why don’t you join something
where the competition does not want you around,
to find out what it means now to be among beings.

Add up the available choices,
to whatever number that adds up to less than zero,
and keep going around like a contagious disease.

You throw up some words, nauseated at the emptiness,
that you increasingly feel inside yourself,
to find on one is really interested in anything you can say.

No one whom you wanted to invite
really ever wanted to come.
Completely closing you down into quarantine.

An organization that no one was interested in joining.
Another club with no members,
as crippled as a paralyzed hand with no fingers.

Thought you were in the running, did you,
only to find you are not in the running at all,
having no idea what really went wrong.

It was that same persistent sick optimism
that made you think that it would get better,
but it only gets worse simply to prove you wrong..

They led you to believe you too could be interesting,
same as nearly anyone else, but that too can be cured,
and all the others found their special offers guaranteed.

The only constant that you know anything of
is the constant of being a victim of attrition,
the last man in an army fighting down to the last man.

They had you believing it would be different,
each time you found that it never was.
The messenger was killed before you got any information.

You know nothing now, that really matters,
given nothing other than keeping up on the news.
You were the blank that one that no one filled in.

Finding everything is only the same circling round,
that drags you in, only to pull you down.
Seems even the vultures have found better spoils.

You have nothing interesting to offer anyone,
whom you could ever really want to interest.
It is like a condemned sign posted across your face.

You feel as if you are being steadily demolished,
to make way for whatever is of current interest,
though you have no idea what that really is.

-----------------------------------------------------

191011B
-----------

It is only a customary tease,
having no deeper meanings.
You take it in the same way
as you would take a dose of medicine.
Swallow it down,
then forget about it.

No need to search body cavities,
to look for anything beneath the surface.
Futile to conduct any dissections
seeking any of the hidden reasons.
The situation was dead on arrival,
and you just were not notified of the fact.

It is a chronic condition
that never gets any better than that.
The same as all chronic conditions,
it costs lots of money to maintain it,
always keeping you short
of whatever else that you need.

The only findings are habits
that you have no choice about,
that you have no chance to escape.
Everything else fell flat long ago,
leaving you nothing to count on
except what you do not really get.

-----------------------------------------

191011C
-----------

Maybe the rich can afford love,
as it always proves to be too expensive
to ever have any of.

Emotional bankruptcy was always assured
in the accountings of give and get.
The only give is what would take too much.

Your life feels ransacked and forsaken,
the best parts all already taken,
by those who gave nothing in return.

The weight of the sky presses down,
making sure nothing gets up off the ground,
conspiring with gravity against its victims.

There is only the persistence of missing out
filling up the scrapbooks of memories.
It is all about what you could never get any of.

It is all about the people you could never know,
some of whom get to do all of those things
that you wanted to, but never had any chance.

You feel as erased as a penciled in name
from the endless lists of guests,
having become invisible in the crowd.

----------------------------------------------

191011D
------------

Sometimes endless years of intrigue
collapse into a heap of nothing,
when you cave in to considering the facts.

It is like a troll that goes on forever,
and you are only a fish avoiding a hook
suspicious that the bait is not real on that line.

Sufficiently starved you put the bite on
what proves to be no more than a hallucination,
finding you have come up empty again.

When you found a door that was left open,
you found there was nothing really there for you,
but you already had nowhere else left to go.

You stopped yelling at the sky long ago,
knowing that it never really responds,
only to find it does not matter if you whisper.

The only good match you can find
is your own twisted imagination,
and even that would only string you along.

All you could ever do is to fall in,
no one ever there to fall in behind you
standing at the end of a one person line.

Tied up in endless knots
and cannot tie a knot with anyone special,
you dangle at the end of your own rope.

It is an eternal way down to oblivion
so you keep refusing to let go,
but no one ever pulls you up.

-----------------------------------

181011E
-----------

Your request is always denied,
but the paperwork comes back to you
indicating you are exhausted
as to all of your possible choices,
on all the possible questions
that you ever tried to answer.

They deducted something more
for each wrong guess,
from the total of all your failures,
leaving you with much less
than you started with,
and no way to make up for that.

No one you could ever have wanted
wanted any of your possible flavors,
your achievable colors,
any imaginable manipulations
pertaining to your own image.
You did not make it onto anyone’s menu.

It eats at you,
gnawing at whatever precious little is left
from your cadaverous existence,
never having found any sort of rebirth,
shot down in flames
you remain covered in your own ashes.

You never found the one for you,
and no one ever found you
in any way that you would want to be found.
You only found how to get lost,
but you used to believe there was something
waiting for you there too.

--------------------------------
doubleV
2011-10-24 17:02:59 UTC
Permalink
Raw Message
Dear Diary,

It is the ones who cheat you
when you do not have much,
that really hurt you the most.
They only want to cut you
to watch you bleed.

Keep coming through
every time that you can,
but it is never enough.
It is the odd time you cannot
that always kills you.

All you have left is your self importance,
being important to no one,
with countless others always ready
to step in and take your place,
leaving you nothing but your solitude.

The choices you would have made
became never your’s to really make.
What they said to bid you up,
was only to watch you fold.
You never had a winning card to play.

Living on the fringes
of a place called Might-have-been,
you can only get to Nowhere
when you start out from Here,
and that is a very long way to go.

----------------------------------------

061011B
------------

Whatever they give,
they always take away.

It is the way the knife goes in,
and comes out again.

The only situation
that you can ever be sure of.

It is the way the spear penetrates
and is withdrawn again.

They always put a hole in you,
that you can never fill.

When you put something in,
you always have to take it out again.

It is a pattern that repeats,
but eventually loses its meaning.

Your entire life is in motion
from one hole to another.

You have to go in and out again,
but there is never any satisfaction.

-----------------------------------------

191011A
-----------

You begin to wonder what words really mean.
Some of them defy all interpretations.
The word “interesting” being one such example.

Martin Heidegger said it was inter esse,
something about being among beings,
but you wonder what that really comes to being.

Being and becoming whatever it means to be,
when someone always wants you to become different
than you ever could, and will not even say what.

To be or not to be, and the becoming are said attractive,
if they are really becoming, into being something,
but you never get to know what it is like to get there.

You do not know your being from your becoming anymore,
never really given to being anything you wanted to be.
Cannot wipe the illusions fast enough off of your mirror.

The only one you ever get any real interest from
is the banker, and that is precious little if anything.
A little interest in your dwindling paltry scratch.

Scratching out a living whenever you can,
pecking at what there is, same as a dumb bird,
waiting to get its neck wrung.

Why don’t you join something
where the competition does not want you around,
to find out what it means now to be among beings.

Add up the available choices,
to whatever number that adds up to less than zero,
and keep going around like a contagious disease.

You throw up some words, nauseated at the emptiness,
that you increasingly feel inside yourself,
to find on one is really interested in anything you can say.

No one whom you wanted to invite
really ever wanted to come.
Completely closing you down into quarantine.

An organization that no one was interested in joining.
Another club with no members,
as crippled as a paralyzed hand with no fingers.

Thought you were in the running, did you,
only to find you are not in the running at all,
having no idea what really went wrong.

It was that same persistent sick optimism
that made you think that it would get better,
but it only gets worse simply to prove you wrong..

They led you to believe you too could be interesting,
same as nearly anyone else, but that too can be cured,
and all the others found their special offers guaranteed.

The only constant that you know anything of
is the constant of being a victim of attrition,
the last man in an army fighting down to the last man.

They had you believing it would be different,
each time you found that it never was.
The messenger was killed before you got any information.

You know nothing now, that really matters,
given nothing other than keeping up on the news.
You were the blank that one that no one filled in.

Finding everything is only the same circling round,
that drags you in, only to pull you down.
Seems even the vultures have found better spoils.

You have nothing interesting to offer anyone,
whom you could ever really want to interest.
It is like a condemned sign posted across your face.

You feel as if you are being steadily demolished,
to make way for whatever is of current interest,
though you have no idea what that really is.

-----------------------------------------------------

191011B
-----------

It is only a customary tease,
having no deeper meanings.
You take it in the same way
as you would take a dose of medicine.
Swallow it down,
then forget about it.

No need to search body cavities,
to look for anything beneath the surface.
Futile to conduct any dissections
seeking any of the hidden reasons.
The situation was dead on arrival,
and you just were not notified of the fact.

It is a chronic condition
that never gets any better than that.
The same as all chronic conditions,
it costs lots of money to maintain it,
always keeping you short
of whatever else that you need.

The only findings are habits
that you have no choice about,
that you have no chance to escape.
Everything else fell flat long ago,
leaving you nothing to count on
except what you do not really get.

-----------------------------------------

191011C
-----------

Maybe the rich can afford love,
as it always proves to be too expensive
to ever have any of.

Emotional bankruptcy was always assured
in the accountings of give and get.
The only give is what would take too much.

Your life feels ransacked and forsaken,
the best parts all already taken,
by those who gave nothing in return.

The weight of the sky presses down,
making sure nothing gets up off the ground,
conspiring with gravity against its victims.

There is only the persistence of missing out
filling up the scrapbooks of memories.
It is all about what you could never get any of.

It is all about the people you could never know,
some of whom get to do all of those things
that you wanted to, but never had any chance.

You feel as erased as a penciled in name
from the endless lists of guests,
having become invisible in the crowd.

----------------------------------------------

191011D
------------

Sometimes endless years of intrigue
collapse into a heap of nothing,
when you cave in to considering the facts.

It is like a troll that goes on forever,
and you are only a fish avoiding a hook
suspicious that the bait is not real on that line.

Sufficiently starved you put the bite on
what proves to be no more than a hallucination,
finding you have come up empty again.

When you found a door that was left open,
you found there was nothing really there for you,
but you already had nowhere else left to go.

You stopped yelling at the sky long ago,
knowing that it never really responds,
only to find it does not matter if you whisper.

The only good match you can find
is your own twisted imagination,
and even that would only string you along.

All you could ever do is to fall in,
no one ever there to fall in behind you
standing at the end of a one person line.

Tied up in endless knots
and cannot tie a knot with anyone special,
you dangle at the end of your own rope.

It is an eternal way down to oblivion
so you keep refusing to let go,
but no one ever pulls you up.

-----------------------------------

181011E
-----------

Your request is always denied,
but the paperwork comes back to you
indicating you are exhausted
as to all of your possible choices,
on all the possible questions
that you ever tried to answer.

They deducted something more
for each wrong guess,
from the total of all your failures,
leaving you with much less
than you started with,
and no way to make up for that.

No one you could ever have wanted
wanted any of your possible flavors,
your achievable colors,
any imaginable manipulations
pertaining to your own image.
You did not make it onto anyone’s menu.

It eats at you,
gnawing at whatever precious little is left
from your cadaverous existence,
never having found any sort of rebirth,
shot down in flames
you remain covered in your own ashes.

You never found the one for you,
and no one ever found you
in any way that you would want to be found.
You only found how to get lost,
but you used to believe there was something
waiting for you there too.

--------------------------------

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