When Shakespeare's a mind for a cussing,
There's no indirection or fussing.
It's straight to the point,
A fool to annoint,
A wit-loaded bold blunderbussing.
Preferred indifference,
the Stoics say
The arm’s length model
where choices stray
In for a penny,
in for a pound
The shield left naked
—when outward bound
(Dreamsleep: May, 2021)
Unnameable the moment when it starts
The sun goes turns black and flowers die on the stalk
The agony in the garden of the heart
Unnatural rhythms subvert accountants’ charts
Poor nestlings feel the onslaught of the hawk
Untraceable the moment when it starts
For always seemed our love, and quiet its art
Banal the labels in a doctor’s talk
Of agony in the gardens of the heart
Speechless,cold and numb the separate parts
Each one with its indirection walks
Untraceable the moment when it starts
That one who knew our measure must depart
Wounds our sense of self now writ in chalk
Such agony in the gardens of the heart
Like a skylark trapped,untimely, caught
I the one time lover fear the night
So minute at the moment when it starts
Agony strips the garden of the heart
When
Will we accept our idealist indirection?
Deviated by selfish deviance;
byproducts of our own deceits.
Hope
Remains in anonyms who grasp moralizing concepts.
Courage must manifest promised tangibility.
Despair
Cripples forces of hope;
Sprinkling dreary forecasts, only to be left in doubt.
Questionable answers are found, such as...
Why do we be what we are?
1-16-2012
If love was a carol would it be in line to night of care to spread or imprint,
Likeness of kind does time milk or chore to escape like well with no
containment,
If duration was a light how bright is the light,
If time stop would it stop to a capture feature,
That the type of pressure that relapse memories that hold no boundary,
Is this the lights of pattern to forward or bypass,
How signs and numbers have bigger meanings,
To look thru or look pass each other each and,
every other day does that make us,
bold or indirection of the carrier of truth vision,
If duration was a light how bright is the light,
If time stop would it stop to capture a feature,
Same as or thru light,
Like one does time it mimics or shadow to purpose for yet to learn,
Meaning of duration of time,
Is this the lights of pattern to forward or bypass how,
How signs and numbers have bigger meaning,
What is yet the true tunnel if time is it of man of giving what is seen,
What is true vision or is it to escape meaning,
If duration was a light how bright is the light,
If time stop would it stop to capture a feature,
Purpose of one existing.
Mountains
People have climbed
Peaks do erupt
White colors cap
Clouds huddle around
Butterflies turn stomachs
Dreams are made
What are mountains?
You may be...
And even myself
Who we are...
Mountains are us.
All around us
Inside of us
We are mountains.
Together we become
Only formed together
We become us.
You without I
Are not together
Outside of ourselves
Look upon mountains
See inside yourself
Belief encompassed within
That we are.
Are we that?
We are that.
What is that?
This is mountainous.
Mountains of inspiration
Inspired by each-other
Connected bonds us
Together becomes we
Sharing our passions
We become together.
Mountains symbolize hope
Fears present doubt
We reflect disbelief
Shame damns pride
Ego rejects potential
Man follows indirection
Hope remains within
Mountains sustain dreams
As tangible hope
What are mountains?
You may be...
And even myself
Who we are...
Mountains are us.
All around us
Inside of us
We are mountains.
Together we become
Mountains of us
Only formed together
You and I
Together we become
Mountains
Seeping dread,
Sad and tattered,
In the back of my head,
Feeling like the mad hatter,
No one knows,
But they’re quick guess,
I don’t care,
They don’t know me best,
Leave me be,
I beg you,
Please,
Solitude’s most easy,
Yet so depressing,
Seeping dread,
To wish for death,
No a way to live,
I have nothing to give,
What is your intentions,
Don’t search for perfections,
For they are not found in me,
Please,
I beg you,
Leave me be,
Seeping dread,
I am the monster under my bed,
Lost in a hole,
Indirection taking it’s toll,
Please,
Release me,
From this seeping dread.
By, Rasheal l. Timm
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