"aftershock" poems
Earthquake moments
In my life
objects being thrown everywhere
Raindrop tears creating floods on my face
And aftershock shakes
Vibrating throughout my body and lungs
What deepens the flood is how I think
you have those moments too
They play in my head like
A 1920s silent film
I wonder how many
You've needed to experience
To gain those red scars
That you conceal so carefully
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
And in the whitest dark I
Ask for only that
To keep
Me there, for just the span of
Your snowglobe smile
That aftershock nightlight in the
Afternoon heat
Wait for me there
With your bayonet heart
Hands
Shoulders
Beneath the powerline
Wire, asleep but for me
Awake but for
The rest
And doze after
Half-light dreams and
Headrush spotlights that
Blur and
Mar my
Little love frame
Bright night air, fill
Every niche
Till whole is all
And all is this
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
ECG
They showed the broken rhythm of my heart
With inky ripples traced in peaks and troughs
The night when sudden life was torn apart
Left echoes like a dry persistant cough
This paper trail more signature of self
Than any scribbled scrawl of given names
More indication of my vital health
Than any poet’s talk of light or flames
My quick survival charted there as fact.
“And here, you see a murmured aftershock”
The remnant spider scribe of heart attack
My ailing pulse, my brittle ticking tock
Once took a moment’s beat to catch its breath
And left me reeling at the edge of death.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
***I was lost on the pavement
Along the corridors
Who left me unspoke through the scattered bloods
That left me hang on a cliff
My eyes was beneath the aftershock
But all I could do is to stare at the ceiling
No words to be found nor sounds could form
Only the laugh,scream and yells of the crowd
The thunderstorm,chill of the breezing air
Wants me to follow the serene.
My catatonic blueprinted smile was fainted
Schizophrenia that I could last at the moment
And yet an honorific began to squeeze me
There were thousands of people
But I could feel like im on the spotted arena
If I could shout out loud and escape from the reality then I'd go save by the bell.***
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
My mind has been tormenting me
Constant thoughts of self doubt
Such ill contempt for myself
And it seems to only get worse
I’m trying desperately to push back
But with each day it grows stronger
Pushing me back into a corner
Making me feel small and weak
There are times where I’d win
There are times when it’s a draw
But times like these hurt so bad
Because I’m losing a battle with myself
Sometimes it goes so far
As to make me cry in misery
Begging for my thoughts to be wrong
Hoping and praying that I’ll be okay
Other times it causes me to go numb
To not be able to feel at all
Those are the times I fear the most
It’s when I become the most self sabotaging
I don’t want my brain to win
I can’t let these thoughts cloud my mind
But the harder I fight
The stronger they seem to become
And what hurts the most
Is my past traumas
Becoming worse and worse
Making me lose my ability to trust again
Over the last few years
I have found out that even actions
Are not to be trusted
Much like someone’s word
I’m trying to hard to correct that mindset
To learn to trust again
But the more I try
The harder it gets
I met someone new a few months ago
Someone I really care for and love
But because of my past
My head is evil
Making me question everything I do
Making me question the faith I have for him
All these sabotaging thoughts
And I fight them off everyday
I wish someone told me that dating
After serious trauma is inflicted
Would be harder than anything
Especially with how bad mine was
Maybe I could have prepared myself better
Or tried harder to correct my issue with trust
Maybe I could have healed my pain
So my mind wouldn’t push me away
Because this pain is so much worse
Than the trauma I endured
So much worse than the suffering
I dealt with afterwards
Far worse than the death of a loved one
I feel alone in my suffering
Surrounded by mockery
Silently crying to myself
I don’t know if I’ll be able to win this battle
Not by myself at least
But who do you turn to
When you can’t even trust yourself
Sep 24, 2021
Sep 24, 2021 at 5:39 PM UTC
Midnight approaches
Tick tick tock
Won't someone stop
The Doomsday Clock
From striking oil
Drilling rock
Thirsting soil
Aftershock
Deserted hourglass of sand
Shifts to resource hungry hand
Tyrants of time assume command
Greed consumes
This wasted land
First come the roaches
Tick tick tock
The bugs can't stop
The Doomsday Clock
With beehive brains
No voice to talk
And droning minds
Comprise the flock
As lone wolves feast
On sheep they stalk
Then fear encroaches
Tick tick tock
Too scared to stop
The Doomsday Clock
As violence claims
Each city block
Blood drawn on streets
Like sidewalk chalk
When Hatred's loaded
Gun is cocked
Beyond reproaches
Tick tick tock
How could they stop
The Doomsday Clock
When despots trade
In human stock
Waging war
Upon this rock
As profits slaughter
More livestock
The end approaches
Tick tick tock
No hope to stop
The Doomsday Clock
As poisoned skies
Corrode this rock
With toxic lies
Controlling hourglass of sand
Clenched by Atlas choking hand
Titans of industry command
Still Chronos rules
This dying land
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
he trickled into my consciousness
like an unseasonal, stealthy raindrop
my mind still ripples
--the aftershock of his presence
testimonial to his absence
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
12.03.2013
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
you still make me tremble
even after all this time
talking to you makes me shake
i was on solid ground
and you're an earthquake
now it's just the aftershock
i honestly thought that you forgot.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
We laughed so hard and heartedly
till our bodies contorted in the aftershock of vacant humour
I look at your dead pan expression
and the volcano erupts again.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 7:02 PM UTC
If I were to write a poem about you,
my haunted Spanish artista,
I wonder what it would look like.
Can words on a paper
simple lines and colorless letters
sum up what I feel when
I see you fears?
The war. A war I cannot imagine,
young and innocent as I am.
Would the words be jarring,
a handful of stinging bullets,
LOUD and TOXIC,
bombs and sirens and screams?
Would they be sloooow and sluuured,
blood seeping into the streets,
or the last rattling breath
of a dying man?
Or would they be quiet?
The quiet would be worst, I think
an aftershock of loss and pain,
salty tears whispering down
the cheeks of mothers holding still children,
prayers murmured into the night.
Mi Dios
Ayudame
Por favor
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 10:59 PM UTC
For as long as I can remember,
I've been practicing safety drills.
school, home, the work place, even planes.
Everyone wants to be prepared
for those so-called natural disasters.
It's stunning how they never think to
prepare you for heart break.
It's so much more common.
You are the earthquake that has me
braced for an aftershock. I am hiding
under doorways, diving for the protection
of restaurant tables. My survival kit
is fresh out of healing, and my wounds are
growing agitated. Why wasn't I prepared for this?
Algebra and Grammar won't help me
get out of bed tomorrow morning.
Testing door handles to see if they are hot
will only keep me away from flesh wounds.
Zoology taught my to dissect a frog,
but your vital organs are so much harder to locate.
Is there even a heart inside your chest?
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
Magnets;
lock and key;
and, the unsubtle,
bolt
and *****
These are things that collide harmoniously and do not dispute
We are not such an archaic, mechanized metaphorical construct.
I feel us as primal,
torrid decadence;
a deliberate impassioned vulnerability:
an animalistic exposé.
Unfocused, infinite black holes
expanding
to be lost within
Quivering circle of solicitous, engorged fuchsia
steaming harsh,
needy
attempts of oxygen recovery
Soft powder snow
melting over olive tree trunks,
quaking with endless echoes resonating from beyond the hills above
A thunderous harbinger centers chaos,
rampaging gust-like vibration through taut roots,
a volcanic eruption.
Lava geyser
blazing till all energy
enthralls the earth.
What I see for us is a metaphor in nature.
I will be the seismic activity
and you
will dance above me.
Your world will collapse against me
in my relentless motions.
And when you stand again,
I will bring you to
your knees
in my aftershock
and show you strength that will move you mountains.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
~
*"...Though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil..."
-- Psalm 23:4*
This Achilles' heel
— die for yellow
the abruptness has come
sick shoddy steam engines
bellow
Big blue undone
don't bite the sun
seek out satin
adrift in the flatlines
of this soaring dystopian stockpile
just as the flaming Icarus
fell in exile
Unlock the nearest far
but lose a hand in the cookie jar
cockpit burn
— what new color
do we learn?
Promise me you'll live
beyond yellow
and on re-entry I'll play
the hedonistic fellow
falling from the summit
— Breaking atmo
with so great a speed
like it or not
I'll soon be eternally
freed
Starburst
and static talk
ionized trails
and blisters of aftershock
Remembering the capsule
under the tongue
remembering the break-up
under the sun
Sensing fascination
in an endless stretch of graveyard
Duke of the avant-garde
this abstraction is now
my calling card
We're at the threshold here
reshaping into debris
and I'm wondering
just so wondering
if you will ever find me
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 7:48 AM UTC
A smile kisses my lips
as the darkness disappears
another endless night has faded
hours lost with lack of sleep
I tremble with anticipation
as my heart burns with inspiration
of so many others that have come before me
my skin humming with the beautiful notion
of their passion and devotion
my blood set ablaze
something is awakening within me
so far inside I had feared it was almost forgotten
but the dawn of each new day keeps trying to explain
all the many reasons I am here in the now
if you were to catch me in this fleeting quiet
there is nothing I would hide
I would bare all that lay inside
if you were to pay attention
this moment holds perfection
with its entirety of the unique
perched atop my hidden corner of my world
seeing nothing but knowing all
praying with the aching desire
to only keep getting higher and higher
to climb with worn hands
the rocky mountainside
to dance with bare feet
in the frisky river waters
with my days of sobbing on the bathroom floor
far enough behind me only to see a faint outline
tracing with my fingertips of aftershock
the bits of ridicule and criticism popping up
just as quickly fading to black
and instead of being riddled with tiny little holes
stealing that pain
making a statement
taking a stand
I notice all that has made and kept me strong
for so very long kept in the background
my heartbeats pounds with the bass boom boom
all of a sudden the syncopation hits the room
the terror comes in waves so strong
shivers send electric static currents up my spine
as if for one split second
not one atom around me is the same
almost dreamlike comes the realization
that I have always been
painting, writing, sculpting, singing, building
my very own reality........
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 10:41 AM UTC
Vibrant antebellum
In the city streets saturates the air
And pulls the attention of children
From the gutters everywhere
Aftermath, aftershock, after the end
Syndrome X inside a plastic cup
Bellicose cries from bleeding sores of media
Shrouded with burqa shadows as a necessary anesthesia
Where is the city and where is the state?
Invisible numbers counted with ink stained thumbs
Delicate piano sound, pale girl fingers
The scent of your fatigue still lingers
I’ve seen many beautiful things
One day, I’ll remember what they are
But for now their faces are stretched like plastic bags
Bound to tear at the bottom and eventually sag
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:24 PM UTC
I found myself missing you the other day,
So I made you a little figurine
Out of clay.
It was a little soldier, his sword drawn in
Triumph.
It was just the type of thing I knew
You would enjoy.
You could put it on your bed-side table.
I painted it to match the color scheme of your
Bedroom.
I know you told me never to give you anything,
Since you knew you would feel the need to
Reciprocate.
And I remember how you said you hate doing that,
For fear of rejection, perhaps.
Your pride is inconceivably fragile.
I felt this the moment before we
First kissed.
You stood stoically, waiting for
Me
to move closer.
Waiting for
Me
To initiate.
So I did.
Months pass by,
And I figure that giving you my little soldier,
A tangible token of my affections,
Could serve as a similar
Initiation.
Because really,
It is far too late to prevent me from giving you anything.
Such pride-salvaging boundaries are impractical when
I have already given you the most
Intimate part of
Me.
It was merely my body’s warmth, at first.
A throbbing desire,
A muscle spasm,
A rapturous aftershock,
And then, unwittingly,
Those things transcended flesh,
Becoming the reality of my
Soul.
So you see,
You have already given me more than you
Intended, either.
And I just needed to give you something palpable,
So you could see me, and touch a piece of me
Even when I was away.
Because I was hoping that you were missing me
Too.
Until this morning,
When I clumsily knocked my little figurine
Off of the kitchen counter.
All I have to give you now,
Is in dozens of
Irreparable pieces.
So I am inclined to believe
That the reality you kindled
Within my soul,
Was too fragile and too fleeting
To be
Initiated
In your own.
I picked up the shards
Of clay, and
Cried in regret.
Knowing that you would really have loved what I
Made for you,
Had you ever gotten the chance
To see it.
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 11:55 AM UTC
Adrenaline gripping me
Desperation settling
Aftershock recollection
Magnificent desolation
I plead with myself
Don't think about the crash,
The broken memories need rest,
Or the rush
Like a roller coaster ride
Yet I'm still alive
In wonder
I have briefly touched the edges of Hell
Yet I survived
I've bottomed out and crashed
Welcomed death with blurry whiplash
Yet my lungs are still contracting
Twice in three days
I have uttered my last words
Yet I'm still breathing
I'm still alive
I survived
I have cheated death
So for now I am happy to lie and rest
Honestly, I am to happy just to breathe
For surely
(In the future)
Death will want revenge on me.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
Drips to the brain and a shock on your lips/
With a paper-thin smile as she slowly moves her hips/
Eyes glazed over she just wants to find a way out/
But she hits and then she trips until she's on the ground passed out.
You mean to tell me you're an angel?
**** lies.
Because you're stuck inside your own mind lookin' for a compromise.
Earthquake, shook up, waitin' for the sun to rise/
Aftershock, thrown up, do it all again tonight.
She's a little diva, with a tattoo when her sleave's up/
Keep it from the parents they don't know just what the street's done.
Darling likes 'em daring better hope she doesn't catch one/
Paralyzing stare and she'll forget you after all the fun.
But it's a sickness, her fever seems so cyclic.
She hustles-loves-and moves-on shouting independence.
'She's not the one to blame' they say, 'she's a product of her environment'
no way.
She's a self-sustained dope-headed crack-craving cock-train.
Begging for her high she can lie to fill the pocket,
A siren slowly swinging with her skin a little off-tint.
But what if lies were only lies because of what ourselves define,
and maybe lines scribbled over lines are just the best way I can hide.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
The Morning After
I remembered your hands this morning,
The way you let your fingers run down my neck,
Self-conscious of their effect on me.
They would make their way down my spine,
My back curling to them, awakened.
Meld my flesh to your fingerprints.
I remembered the taste of your fingertips,
The dip of your palm, the folding effect
Of your skin - How it would pulsate against mine.
I know them and the roughness off your calloused,
Hard working hands. I loved the grazing of you,
The warmth of your skin.
You let your hands bloom in mine,
Opened up your fingers, spread your palm
To let me take hold of you, to memorize
The swirls and lines of you. I loved the sensation of you,
The aftershock of your devotion.
The sun creaked through the cracks
Of my blinds this morning and I remembered
You and your touch, your hands and
The creases I would lose myself in,
That I traced endlessly.
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 5:18 PM UTC
you are an earthquake
you start without a warning
and you devistate and destroy
and the people can feel you far away
and you cause death
but then you leave
no clean up crew
no instructions on how to clean
all of this rubble
all of this mess
i can still feel you
i can feel the shaking
the fractures are fresh to me
and those moments of terror
remain so vivid
and the way you intended to annihilate
and the way you wanted to eradicate
without a single afterthought
but the overwhelming aftershock
was too cruel
and the citizen
couldn't clean up your mess this time
so the inhabitant of
the chaotic results of you
decided maybe it was time to go...
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
How is it that once a heart breaks,
It's like an earthquake,
And you'll forever feel the aftershocks
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
In chains trying to make change
Arrange for a plane to far away plains
In vain he hopes to stand
On his two feet but love, he cannot believe. So much pressure he bought it no receipt. I got these white collars stressing me, telling me, wear your tie pick up your feet, please, my ancestors didn't fight to see, me, 36 floors up fashion hanging me, from the metaphorical tree. No they won't see me groveling on my knees. I'm a proud black man dyeing to be, free, and its funny cause we all dyeing to be, something, and time don't cease and we just micro-living in peace, or pain, or plain vanilla.
(Columbus day)
In a noose finding proof
Board a boat to a faraway moat
Round we go, at least he's afloat
In a sea of uncertainty,
certainly, he can handle what he see's
But what about what he feels
I don't know what's worse.
The loss or the hurt.
I see the day as the end of natural earth.
Borders crossed never to be returned.
The order was established I'm still fellin the aftershock. They mock my art, mock my creativity, try to mock the essence of me. But in a sense its good, I guess, allowing free expression to get this stress off my chest. Blessed I feel every day to know I aint got to go. The box that surrounds me is just metaphorical. Even the rules in place are deplorable, meanin ignorable. If it don't help it hurt and the new jim crow need some work. But as long as I can escape it, as long as I can break out the box, as long as I can stand on two feet, the oppressor will never catch me on my knees in a noose or fighting to get loose. My mind is already liberated, my education has focused my hatred, and I realized they the ones that need the savin.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
Shock waves, tremors,
rolling en force from the core of my being,
out of the impact of what has
transpired so unforeseen,
reverberating from my life to others,
and just as in me the rumble subsides
undulating back to blast me in the face,
a stark reminder of the force of the initial tremor -
unanticipated aftershock
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 9:10 PM UTC
Time was we spent in an abyss
Looking towards the falling stars
Like kings of yesteryear
Centuries gone by and dynasties fell
To the tremor of your aftershocks
Thinking thoughts of purity
Reminded me of how we used to be
Pitch black midnight hour
Singles the halo of astrology
And years of vermin run thru the streets
Plaguing the healthy
And making wealth of the diseased
Some thought we could see the end
Some thought we were only where it began
In the ocean I swam with sharks
And made mad friends with the deep
Anchor around my feet
So I can’t risk the escape of air
And digital dreams I’ve remembered
Mixed with truths of your fiction
We depict the despicable in black
Soiled our whites obsolete
With out intentions
And mentions of a better life
We plead for our illuminations
Of a bitter embrace
But descend silent in your aftershocks
Silence in your thoughts
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 8:04 AM UTC
Something about gunfire.
Somebody says religion.
It’s an opportunity for the TV
to screen the same scenes,
the blinking blue and reds
of a bevy of cop cars
and the spooling headline
that assumes, then confirms
the worst.
And so strangers from all corners
spew their pennies’ worth
like bees fumbling for honey,
thousands of hypotheses
replete with exclamation marks,
the name of a Floridian city
swelling as a violet bruise
in the aftershock,
plunged into uninvited limelight.
The chief claims a ‘lone-wolf’ attack,
a man who loathed rainbows
then wiped his own life.
Talk swiftly turns to guns,
the increasing frequency
of wicked bloodshed,
the how, the why, the ‘this day and age’
and ‘the world isn’t safe’
and the nothing, still nothing is done.
Just one night before,
another tragedy,
a young singer shot
while signing their name,
fans left to clasp
the musical remnants
of a life snatched away,
the acerbic word ******
in a nonsensical second.
Something so horrid
became something so common.
How many more gunshots
must shatter a night?
How many more families
must crumple like newspapers
peppered with headlines of the recently lost?
They are asking for answers.
We wait for them to come.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC