zigzagtuesday - Hello Poetry

The greatest battles/ wars- are those fought in one’s own mind. Sometimes over & over again. Bridges you are forced to cross only to realize later you must backtrack and cross in a different manner. To humble yourself enough to consider another option- one previously beyond and above your scope of perception or ability. To then fashion a device that will carry you- this time over your obstacles instead of trekking through them; thereby dredging the sticky matter and debris of that particular chaos with you to your next destination. --\ Which of course you will find is only more journey. Likely meant, at some point to be revisited by yourself in a higher consciousness.

0

Dec 7, 2013

Dec 7, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC

one

The greatest battles/ wars- are those fought in one’s own mind. Sometimes over & over again. Bridges you are forced to cross only to realize later you must backtrack and cross in a different manner. To humble yourself enough to consider another option- one previously beyond and above your scope of perception or ability. To then fashion a device that will carry you- this time over your obstacles instead of trekking through them; thereby dredging the sticky matter and debris of that particular chaos with you to your next destination. --\ Which of course you will find is only more journey. Likely meant, at some point to be revisited by yourself in a higher consciousness.

6

if light bulbs got anxious and burned out any time someone caught them shining

0

May 8, 2013

May 8, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC

imagine

if light bulbs got anxious and burned out any time someone caught them shining

1

i think about the stains on the ceiling, shaped like angels falling about wooden walls like abstract art, you see an owl, then i see your subconscious eyes are not windows to the soul, as some say they hold the wear and tear of the day to day and i could only venture to guess that you're staring at your own reflection when you comment on the hazel in mine.

0

May 1, 2013

May 1, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC

since you asked

i think about the stains on the ceiling, shaped like angels falling about wooden walls like abstract art, you see an owl, then i see your subconscious eyes are not windows to the soul, as some say they hold the wear and tear of the day to day and i could only venture to guess that you're staring at your own reflection when you comment on the hazel in mine.

7

can't keep coffee in my cup it drips down the sides and sloshes over on yr shoes and you look back at me, biting yr tongue, i know can't keep cigarettes in my pack i know i've quit but i buy another how else can i feel proud with no temptation to resist? can't keep pace with anyone you tell me to stop comparing "it'll come, give it time" and i know, but even so i can't keep you not that i'd want to my cells regenerate too fast though i've stole the smallest part that i could manage so i might keep a bit in tact

0

Apr 27, 2013

Apr 27, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC

wishy, sloshy

can't keep coffee in my cup it drips down the sides and sloshes over on yr shoes and you look back at me, biting yr tongue, i know can't keep cigarettes in my pack i know i've quit but i buy another how else can i feel proud with no temptation to resist? can't keep pace with anyone you tell me to stop comparing "it'll come, give it time" and i know, but even so i can't keep you not that i'd want to my cells regenerate too fast though i've stole the smallest part that i could manage so i might keep a bit in tact

20

(no,) it's not horror by convention. the walls are bare of bugs (and indeed there are walls. bugs too, though not the sort to pester) i've not been abruptly taken or shaken or prodded by torturous instruments of men or the mind. for garish light i am able to adjust (though i'd prefer it dim) i make no note of odor or obtrusive presence, and so it is in my familiar crevice. where joints come painlessly unhinged (connected still by blood and tissue) like the child's game with mismatched shapes (this square simply won't fit in this tube) (limbs irrevocably misaligned) and there i'll float, when i've drifted to the depths of a space that can't be removed (aware and unable)

0

Apr 26, 2013

Apr 26, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC

when i slip away

(no,) it's not horror by convention. the walls are bare of bugs (and indeed there are walls. bugs too, though not the sort to pester) i've not been abruptly taken or shaken or prodded by torturous instruments of men or the mind. for garish light i am able to adjust (though i'd prefer it dim) i make no note of odor or obtrusive presence, and so it is in my familiar crevice. where joints come painlessly unhinged (connected still by blood and tissue) like the child's game with mismatched shapes (this square simply won't fit in this tube) (limbs irrevocably misaligned) and there i'll float, when i've drifted to the depths of a space that can't be removed (aware and unable)

15

cold ground, bare feet uphill, concrete closed eyes, held breath arms wrapped, meaningless. rhymes that wouldn't fit the stanza you're set to target, i'm a tangent.

0

Mar 4, 2013

Mar 4, 2013 at 8:20 AM UTC

but i hope not

cold ground, bare feet uphill, concrete closed eyes, held breath arms wrapped, meaningless. rhymes that wouldn't fit the stanza you're set to target, i'm a tangent.

6

only hope that no one's counting how many times we've changed our minds. like car rides where you wanna dive straight up and out the window to the sky and i really believed in an instant that i might.

0

Mar 4, 2013

Mar 4, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC

take flight

only hope that no one's counting how many times we've changed our minds. like car rides where you wanna dive straight up and out the window to the sky and i really believed in an instant that i might.

8

adrift for so long you forget the water's shallow- we can walk.

0

Mar 1, 2013

Mar 1, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC

30 seconds of all the world's undivided attention

adrift for so long you forget the water's shallow- we can walk.

3

jesus, we're breathing! and the night turns into day. was it so bad that you couldn't laugh? has it ever been, and who's the judge of that?

0

Mar 1, 2013

Mar 1, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC

expletives

jesus, we're breathing! and the night turns into day. was it so bad that you couldn't laugh? has it ever been, and who's the judge of that?

3

awwwhh, **** the ocean and how the rain smelled! i'm not here to conjure imagery of a pre-dawn traipse across town and the oh-so profound revelations that came just before sleep. shadows cast at such an angle that the front lawn looked like paradise, the pretty words spoken in low tones as if we had a secret and couldn't let the world know. because i wake up on the floor with something sticky in my hair and one contact twisted up in my eye that makes me squint. i'm struck still by brash remarks on my own part and the forgotten reactions by another (memory fails in all the right places) i can not look a soul in the eye and my mumbling is half-natural and three quarters shame. and i feel it deeply. there will be no romanticising the ache that sticks in your head i will not mention how i felt life, so freely and completely in the very hours i seek here to discount. **** the strange beauty in pain and **** our futures only time will drown out the rest the least i could do is accurately encapsulate the pure feeling of all the ways life is nothing at all like a poem.

0

Mar 1, 2013

Mar 1, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC

not to put it gently

awwwhh, **** the ocean and how the rain smelled! i'm not here to conjure imagery of a pre-dawn traipse across town and the oh-so profound revelations that came just before sleep. shadows cast at such an angle that the front lawn looked like paradise, the pretty words spoken in low tones as if we had a secret and couldn't let the world know. because i wake up on the floor with something sticky in my hair and one contact twisted up in my eye that makes me squint. i'm struck still by brash remarks on my own part and the forgotten reactions by another (memory fails in all the right places) i can not look a soul in the eye and my mumbling is half-natural and three quarters shame. and i feel it deeply. there will be no romanticising the ache that sticks in your head i will not mention how i felt life, so freely and completely in the very hours i seek here to discount. **** the strange beauty in pain and **** our futures only time will drown out the rest the least i could do is accurately encapsulate the pure feeling of all the ways life is nothing at all like a poem.

21