Long Indifferent Poems
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There are dreams, other dreams, and there are nightmares. Dreams really do have something to say, and if able to capture them upon awakening, we are well served by them. There are dreams from God* whereby He is speaking to us, and there are other dreams
in which vagueness covers their message. Oh, did I mention there were dreams that turn into nightmares? Anyway, that's another subject for another time, but blessed of God and wiser by far are those who know and understand the difference. For example, I will often dream and forget the dream or a dream is too cloudy and scrambled. And then, there are dreams that one cannot forget and will not go without attention. I had a dream last night that was short and to the point envolving a person that seemed out of character, and the portrayal of that person in the dream was very defined and real. In this case, I suspect the message in the dream is not so much about the person as about the characteristics displayed which points to matters of importance in the lives of everyone. In these types of dreams, I try to discern what The Lord might be showing me and for what purpose. In this dream, I concluded that God was saying, "Take note and see to it that you beware and avoid the following": Avoid being Distant, Disconnected, Distracted, and Detached; Avoid being Rushed; Avoid being Indirect, Indifferent, and Irritable; Avoid being unstilled, unsteady, and unfocused. Such flaws permeated the person in my dream. It appears that God was using a dream to remind me to be unlike the person I saw in my dream. Indeed, God often speaks in mysterious ways.
08132019PoSoup *Job 33:15-20 New International Version (NIV)
there’s nothing wrong with me. . .
i am staring at the tv screen,
i should be laughing- i am i guess
it’s a hollow giggle above something horrid beneath
you stomped to the kitchen
i rolled my eyes
drunk again, what’s new?
you threatened to swallow all the lithium pills
oh like i have not heard that one before
there’s nothing wrong with me, you baby
put that knife away
you’re not gonna do it
you know you’re not gonna. . .
you went out on the porch
i sunk into the comfortable chair
it’s so comfortable, it hurts
you’re moaning, i wanna die… i wanna die
i swallow my soda and sigh
You,
You think I’m cold,
You think I’m uncaring, selfish, indifferent,
You think I’m a monster, doing nothing
And in a way, maybe I am,
But that’s what you made of me
I’m done
I’m sick of the same ****
It’s what I am
Every drink you chug,
Ever pill you pop
Sinks me deeper into the comfy chair
I will suffocate, baby. . .
Whispering myself into screams:
There is Nothing wrong with me!
The whole truth
and nothing but the fu(king truth
That laws, and math, only help solve
local temporary problems,
All of which fall way short
on the infinite needs scale
were we rely on estimates, theories,
and other manmade truths
Still here we are,
alone on a goldilocks planet
All 8 billion of us milling around,
living our lives
guaranteed nothing
other than this moment
and whatever came before
To think otherwise
would be presumptuously human
As for choice is there really any
other than try feed ourselves
and sate the instinct to survive and thrive
We are a civilisation built on
disparate societal values and creeds
Each day is an imperceptible handover
from one generation to the next,
with no guarantee they’ll do a better job
But the real problem is not truth,
It’s why!
Why anything at all,
Why life
Why the fu(k am I asking these questions
I’m apostate, No!
I have little faith, No!
I am honest, No!
A nihilist, No
It’s because I have a sentient,
curious, unapologetic mind
that compels me to ask why!
Sometimes I think
i’d be better off a sponge
floating in crystal clear turquoise balmy oceans
Soaking up oblivious unintelligible surroundings
Indifferent to mortality and the universe,
popping off a few buds every once in a while,
or whatever sponges
brainlessly do to further their species
Such basic life is so very tempting
but just doesn’t sit right
Never to experience love
however fleeting,
Never to endure pain
However crushing,
Never to feel like throwing in the towel,
Even if just to mop blood
off the floor like a sponge
See, I’ve had moments
unimaginably beautiful,
Alongside unconscionably awful ones,
Moments so real
they can’t have been synthesised
by any stretch of any imagination
I believe a God or the universe
created me as a vessel of interpretation
to perceive itself
from my unique perspective
Well not unique per se,
more a personalised handicapped view
I am nothing and everything
in the grand scheme of things
No more! No less!
One that uses swear words
language you may not like,
yet clearly understand
The weirdest part is not the feeling
I’ve written this fu(ked up poem
in previous carnations
It’s my swearing
just seems to be getting worse
By
David Kavanagh
The meing
and mining
and mowing
and moaning
and meaning
and moatedness of life
could not be so different
for girls and boys,
She and he and s/he speaking indifferent
hearing purpose
Enlightening wealthy spirit mess
empowering healthy nature nest,
polyculturing Earth's most profoundly beautiful
and resiliently truthful
nonviolent EarthPeace future
eco-brightening health investiture
And sacred inspiring safety
for all EarthTribe expiring duty
regenerating mature
degenerating immature
fighting and peacing together
integrity's great green
transpositional culture.
Future meaningful prediction
depicting past prehistoric light
and indigenous power
and energetic meaning redaction
Of Heavenly boys and Earthly girls,
surfing oceans and organic lands,
raining waters in fertile soil
expiring seeds and inspiring eggs
of bicameral toil
Consciousness of EarthTribe's meing
mining
moaning for more cooperatively resilient
co-empathic
compassionate post-sacred meaning
no longer against secular purpose
Contextually integral
polypathic sensory synergy,
multiculturally cerebral being
polymathic energy we-ing
in me-ing
and down mowing
and out mining
and deep moaning
and wide meaning
of love's co-passioning potential.
Inspired…
It feels good to me,
To be alive in oneself, to be set in actuality.
Free from worldly expectations and corporational thoughts,
Able to set goals for oneself, let loose from wrought.
Distraught, and set into motion by the world’s needs,
Told how to live one’s life through social media and news feeds.
Agreed fear of change when change is the preset,
To reset, everything our parents raised us to become.
To change us into a social class clone.
Indifferent, numb...
Overcome, Victory!
It lives again, in every man’s heart,
To revive what has been torn apart.
Like water, rushing to bring alive the right,
Insight to be more than staying up on these sleepless nights.
Enslaved to an addiction, with emptiness as chains,
Explained by syndromes, fancy medical conditions.
Convictions no longer ashamed of the change of the reanimation of his title.
Idle regurgitation of all the foul slang and the hate and the pain.
No longer conformed but transformed by his Name.
To be set free, to be…
Me.
No one can predict with certainty
what will happen in the future
Throw all the clocks and appointment books
Open all doors let the wind come in
If you hold down insecurity
it just gets bigger
Where does the glow and
excitement come from
Knowledge goes deeper than simple words
The limits are indifferent
Find the melody in yourself
20.10.2013
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
In the twilight of our thoughts, we thrash in the waves of unconfessed guilt,
Consciousness, a curse of silence, reveals the world in all its hidden cruelty.
We are lost actors on the stage of an endless tragedy, playing roles of helplessness and fear,
Human nature, the merciless director, drives us toward an end where truth is buried under layers of denial.
I look around and see only shadows dancing on the walls of our souls,
Truth, a fragile illusion that unravels at the slightest touch of a lucid thought.
Where can we flee when we are prisoners of our own cowardice?
Ignorance calls to us with warm arms, promising us forgetfulness and peace.
But ah! How futile it all is when we know we are but a shadow of smoke,
A consciousness lost in an indifferent universe, an ephemeral spark in the cosmic darkness.
Morality, knowledge, hope—chimeras created to soothe the pain of existence,
But the masks fall, and we remain naked before the harsh truth of our failure.
We cling to dreams and illusions, building sandcastles on the shore of eternity,
But the wave of time relentlessly washes them away, leaving behind only the memory of futility.
We are aware that we have failed, a circular curse from which we cannot escape,
Wandering through the labyrinth of our own guilt, seeking an exit that does not exist.
Oh, sweet ignorance, why have you abandoned us? Why have we awakened from the sleep of happiness?
Now we gaze into the void, conscious of our own insignificance in the face of eternity.
The world, an ephemeral dream, a fragile appearance floating in the cosmic void,
And we, spectators and actors alike in this endless tragedy.
a silver sickle shape hangs, carved by divine hands
across the velvet bruise of the greyish sky
in two weeks, a chipped coin, smoothed by countless tides
reflecting a silver light that is not its own
but borrowed from a dazzling distant, fiery eye
a splinter shard, a fingernail clipped from heaven
so thin, it might slip with a soft sigh of the clouds
it drifts on, a pale boat, on an ocean of ink
carrying wishful whispers of forgotten dreams
and the quiet awful ache of long lonely hours
it paints the sleeping fields in shades of ghastly ghost
turning traditional trees to skeletal etchings
shining streams into mere ribbons of mercury
that coil and uncoil beneath its uncaring stare
shadows stretch, shifting with the deep breath of slumber
it has witnessed extensive empires rise and fall
lovers whisper warm winsome vows, at times un-kept
solitary souls stroll their painful paths alone
each step, a silent secret, unseen, unknown
echoed in the moon's indifferent gentle glow
a silent light, hung in the vast shrine of the sky
illuminating prayers of a dreaming heart
it waxes and wanes, a sure certain reminder
of the quiet ebb and flow, the spring and autumn
of the slow, sacred, preordained cycle of l
i
f
e.
You and I are stardust
unseen specks
hurled from unknown supernovas
exploding in deep space
an eternity away, ago
carried away on galactic winds
cosmic dandelions
scattered through limitless night
a universe apart
random
yet converging
over millions, billions, of years
all the galaxies, stars, gods
along the way
somehow indifferent to our passage
or conspiring to let us move on
an endless drift
until
we were pulled by gravitation
onto a tiny young planet
a speck, like us, in space
one in untold trillions
atoms, particles, dust
now alighted
assembled
scrambled
reassembled
randomly
patiently
through eons
into
you
me
and a universe shrunk
to that one spot on this earth
where our paths crossed
a one-in-an-infinity chance
destiny over impossibility
Even if yours truly could repeat every grade...
Without fail, I would flunk preschool
farcical scenario aside
truthfully, metaphorically, emphatically
resigned to life as replayed
male live violent scullery maid
forced to spend existence locked
within veritable grotesque
dragon filled dungeon paid
existential dues many times over
horrible nightmarish masquerade
eternal punishment cruel fate
refuses to trade
redemption condemning freedom to fade
prefiguring edge of night
mental dark shadows shade
purposefulness reduced trite
poetry without reasonable rhyme
sole recourse to vent bitter tirade
black bile coursing thru
at woebegone permanently delayed
jollity sabotaged travesty
utter ignominious parade,
no surprise violent rage
bubbles up inside decayed
corporeal flesh, where psyche slayed
fledgling inchoate willpower
self destructive courtesy inherited
ignoble misdeeds displayed
havoc struck in utero a frayed
fetus, where mutated
deoxynucleic acid double helix played
out flawed biological blueprint
fetish, obsession, and zealot
regarding straggly tangled mane
salt and pepper grayed
quiescent, indifferent, and ambivalent
once upon a time
flirted deadly escapade
sought out anorexia nervosa
frankly zapped, starved, and
deprived critical decade
destructive, imperative, and operative
diabolical, inimical, and maniacal aide
de camp conspiring, kickstarting,
snapchatting umbilical cord strangling
again allegorical besieging enfilade
machine gunning, fueling,
and endowing tirade
erupted earlier today – 4:00 A.M.
spouse, racket she made
November 25th, 2019 waylaid
ordinary placid quiescent ruminative...
state, whereat as iterated I conveyed
or tried to elaborate intense anguish
thorny debacle arose
filleted here at Grosse and Quade
owned Schwenksville property.