"ambidextrous" poems
Red balloon: Amanda Mustang
Amanda Mustang : yes red balloon
Rb: are you left handed ?
Am: I don’t think so red balloon
Rb: why not ?
Am: why not why red balloon ?
Rb: well, how come your not sure ?
Am: well I only use my right hand mostly
Rb: but you do use your left one too
Am: yes, but not as much
Rb: then I declare that you
Amanda Mustang is both left and right handed
Am: ambidextrous red balloon
Rb: ambiwhich ? Amanda Mustang
Am: ambidextrous means using both your left and right hands
Rb: then you are ambidextrous Amanda Mustang
Am: not really red balloon, both hands must be as good as each other
Rb then I will ask each hand Amanda Mustang
Am: don’t be silly red balloon.
for hands and feet and ears cannot speak, they simply are not alive
Rb: but you are alive Amanda Mustang, you began talking the day I imagined you.The other balloons say that you are not real, but I know you exist. Maybe from your point of view I’m made up and the other Amanda Mustangs would say “stop talking to that balloon Amanda Mustang, for balloons and teddy’s and cats cannot speak and balloons and teddy’s and cats are not real”
AM: I’m sorry red balloon
Rb: why so Amanda Mustang ?
Am: well for doubting your existence and I apologize to you too both left and right hands
L and R H: That’s okay Amanda Mustang, we forgive you
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC
Spirit and matter
The light and the dark
left and right brained
the Ying and the Yang
an outspoken mute
a chaotic plan
mortal and eternal
a pacifist Warrior
ambidextrous hands
A foot on the ground
A head in the clouds
Silence and sound
A teacher a pupil
Reserved with no Scruples
A genius a fool
slave and the master
man I am God
feline and dog
reason and Insanity
A well planned Calamity
I am BALANCE
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC
I've been looking at the world from a different perspective
IG filters and Snapchat interceptions
I was off the grid, I am now in inception
Social media dance floors
no escape or exceptions
what do you stand for?
put your hands in the septic
so your arms can take all the **** that
Your legs normally dealt with
Apartment, complex complicated life consequences
Brothers life deciphered
into the trenches
Despite all of the help we lent him
Life can be a loan when you are alone
It can get expensive
Don't own a home,
but I could show you what rent is
I could show you what hustle is,
I'm that relentless
Slick mouth, silver tounge...this is manifested
Bike peddling, rebelling Ambidextrous
Quiet devilish, my medicine makes most hella lit
I speak in crooked tongues like most nuns who settle with
Being Singular minded there Vibes are so celibate
A courier in this Corredor settlement
How do I, in these times, stay not high but relevant
I'm confined in thin lines, tell them **** time,
if the sunshine, makes us dumb blind
Like retail and it's details with the big signs
See this conclusion is just a visual illusion
A cesspool in the mainstream visual pollution
This vortex is just a digital confusion
Digits to acidic, hash tags for the lab rats to abuse them
watch me slipstream into a hazmat suit and snap back to an audience all the toxics that I'm using
my minds a clock incapsulated in the bottom of a backpack but only in math class, I state facts for your amusement
How can you do this?! Who the **** are you kid?!
I'm Duke Nukem with a scorpion fist ready to hiduken!
I'm Isaac Newton with a paint brush when I do this
Painting photosynthesis with my sentences, I conclude with...
Nothing but a chronological order I cause a cascade of disorder
I'm on the edge don't **** with me and my border...can't **** with me I'm the best this visual mess is what your ordered
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC
I could drown myself in cups of coffee, in nicotine, old books, and whiskey.
But that won't make me crave you any less.
I could immerse myself in the deepest of enthralling literature, poems, a sea of colloquy,
Waves, strangling the current of my mind.
But you'd still be the resonant word.
I could listen to the sweetest of voices on repeat, golden like honey, sticky,
But my ears would only ever truly answer to yours.
Serpents tend to bite their own tails, a mythological and alchemic symbol of the cyclic nature of the universe: creation out of destruction.
But I'm not breaking my heart, loving you.
Swollen, yearning, daydreamed astray, gathered fast by night.
Curiosity deniable no more, innocence lost, hands wandered exploratory below.
Clambering desperate over themselves, those hands fell over folds of warmed flesh, over forgotten nooks and unfound crevasses, over trembling thighs and aching calves.
Astounded by the vast array of fresh delicacies, of unencountered sensations and deepest pleasures, she stood by loyal as those hands swiftly accustomed themselves to pursuing true ecstasy.
What divine rapture. What soaring heights of pleasure to ascend to. And what a delicious revelation to encounter such unimaginable ecstasy.
That twelfth year become a fourteenth, a fifteenth, a sixteenth.
And with the passing of each came a series of ever more adventurous trysts, the sorts of which Cousteau, Armstrong, and even Columbus could all be truly proud of.
Depths sounded, crevasses plundered, self’s nectars tasted and devoured, the pleasures of the flesh went unearthed.
Elaborate constructions lovingly shaped, waxed and honed, years of heady experimentation, trial and errors, fantasy and dreaming, all in the pursuit of even harder, better, faster, stronger ******* Perhaps it was that, or was it more a case of welcomed companionship? Ambidextrous frustration? A carnal appetite, most terrifying in its magnitude?
Isn’t it time then, you tried a little tenderness?
Be good to you.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
Dear Ambidextrous Man,
I hear you write words with both of your hands
How does it feel? How does it feel to fight with your hands?
One scrawls your joy, while the other your pain
Together they paint a dull world of gray
Luxurious, lovely, lustful letters
Flirting together on fragile lines
Thick contradictions dancing around
Weaving in... and weaving out...
Potent words piercing the pages
Eloquent chains that tactfully twist
Clashing together in colloquial cacophony
A civil war complete with friendly fire
Black... White... Black... White.... Gray
Dear Ambidextrous Man,
How does it feel to fight with your hands?
Awfully good...
Awfully good...
Awfully good?
--Christian J. Clark
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 2:47 PM UTC
We were always bored
Looking for a piece of the action on
Ash tray floors and bong-ridden windows
Ambitious, ambidextrous fools
Trying to reach the icy heights at flaming fifteen
As we got older
Now we're too busy to just sit
And stare at the wall
We should've just stared at the wall
While we could
But we were too busy climbing
Overcoming building blocks
Now that they're stepping stones
All the doors we really need are locked
We should've stayed grounded
In trampolines and pavement chalk
Biding our time in the
Occasional tightrope walk
But to have it all when you want it
Is such a drug
So we pushed each other off
Just to feel the flight of falling
We tried so hard to make the pieces fit
But one puzzle solved
Is just another with more anguish in it
Taking left-hand paths
Just to prove ourselves right
Filling unknown vacancies
We were explorers in the night
As we got older
Now we're to busy to just
Wander in the woods
We should've just stayed in the woods
While we could
But the page has turned
The properties of sin have left us
Stranded in empty lots
Drawing straws for who and who is not
Passing notes and paper planes
We should've been holding hands
Connecting dots, embracing pain
We could've formed a circle band
Kings and queens and peasants
We were them all
But the trinity was dissolved
By geometry's laws
We tried so hard to make the language fit
But one riddle solved
Is just another with more questions in it
When genuine thoughts begin
To get abbreviated
You better pray you're not
The one who's deviated
Cause as we get older
We become too busy to
Recognize the truth
We should have recognized the truth
But it's no use
I don't know what happened to us
But I thought the underdog
Always got the glory later
So I saved my moments in a box
But the contest for youth fame
Is masked by drama's feeble gain
Cause what transpires long after
Is a race for cheap laughter
Better cross your fingers
And stand out as a loser
Lest you become a cabaret
The second you begin to change
I tried so hard to make myself fit in
But one problem solved
Is just another nihilistic moment
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 10:36 PM UTC
take rain from sky
take the way tall men straighten your stance
take the students of dance
see the little ballerina stretch her toes
see her mother warm with the floodlight
take your plea to the judiciary
take your eye to the statue of David
smear on the dust of Somalia
rub raw the frost of Croatia
refresh your aim in the heights of Angola
but do not stop only at this
breathe every impediment
trust every promise of clemency
stumble if you will
fall under cease-fire
take it all
take the watchmaker
bent over time
with fine tools
clasp each second
take the sculptor who
chisels and scalpels for the grandiose
later in your armchair
fold creases in your newspaper with care
be with every nourishment
be with the cloth of your nakedness
make sail for your harbour of origin
remember the milk of your mother
warm or cold or sweet if it is so
appease hunger
with the ambidextrous mouth
of a soldier
fed with death in his jungle
be the bystander, be the bi-partisan,
the ******* the timeless,
the dancer
be it all
breathe each increment
do it now
measure the infinite
the possible
MChallis © 2015
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
i am ambidextrous – i can count how many times you’ve hurt me on both hands and i am ambivalent, i love you but i hate you
there is a certain ambience i recall in flashbacks and unspoken memories, however it fades as quickly as my smile when your name is mentioned
there is so much ambiguity in your eyes when you gaze at me – i stopped marvelling over you and your thoughts and instead marvelled over myself
who am i, without you? what am i, without you?
i am a life of ambition
you are a life of indifference
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
*Ps. I also have to take a ****
He says
It’s what best friends do
They tell you things you don’t want to hear
Like
*Ps. You’re being a ***** right now*
We both know how badly you want to
*Just ******* kiss her*
You are sandpaper laughter
So much grind in my double over we both tear up
This is the stuff I’ve been trying to tell people
For at least 12 years now
How we are so good at following each other’s lead
We get lost in the process and crash into a heaping mess
Of what the ****
Like when I pretend to be gay Christopher Walken
And you are his best friend some Australian guy
And the whole room laughs like this was a joke
I have stenciled SAFETY in microscopic letters
Around the outside of your mattress
For the days I can’t sleep at home
For days where rest
Is the warmth of 3 blankets and a room heater inside your freezing granny flat
You satiate my soul
Like the 12 packs we **** alone in one sitting
Inside your throat
There is a harmonica exhale
Tuned to the key of gritty
It was designed by people who have learned
The true definition of lonely
And It calls to them a song that has only one word
FOUND
I feel found in your ***** harmonica voice
It gets me
Plays my song when slow dancing alone
With my beer belly is all I need for company
You so much an ambidextrous best foot forward
That you occasionally forget which foot is your best
So you remember where your heart went
Always the right place
We might be a cacophony
Of whale farts
and silly accents
and ***** mouthed prayer
to everyone else who meets us
But I have only ever loved amazing people
And I love you
Ps…………. I hope you pooped well
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC
Perfidious lover,
With ambidextrous heart,
You’ve caused my mind to birth
A doubt
Entrapper of my love,
I gift my disenchantment ,
For choking romantic
Ideals
Dear insidious love,
With your infantile ways,
Such brilliant fraudulence,
Has to be commended
Homage
Paid
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 3:31 PM UTC
Left-handed, a lefty, the other arm.
It is forgotten because it’s weaker.
The other, extra, the one with no charm.
If it were a woman, none would seek her.
The sinister and the clumsy left hand.
Derogated abnormality.
Like an afterthought that was never planned.
Its only benefit is symmetry.
At least I could have been ambidextrous.
Then I’d be capable on either side.
I want perfection, not a little less.
This left hand is a source of wounded pride.
When can the useless ever find their place?
This dangling vestige had made me bereft.
But then I found that someone to embrace,
And I saw the potential I had left.
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 9:16 AM UTC
left, sinistral, left sided, left out,
left behind,
gastropod sea shells,
coiling counterclockwise,
when viewed from the apex
when that all alone,
left-out feeling pervades,
to the party uninvited,
for the team, unchosen,
stand out for not standing in,
invisible moat surrounds and suppresses,
life's outward bound sounds,
vision best,
when only looking inward,
remember this too well..
this world, this work,
was created by an
ambidextrous soulbeing
his soul,
favoring neither right or left,
favoring doing right,
and no one
left behind
cognizant that both sides now
are necessaries
for human and seashell existence
proof be that
the creator,
his perfection, at the very least,
in his design motifs,
unquestioned,
made us all
sinistral shells
and sinistral poets
those apex corkscrewing left poets,
the leaven of human fermentation,
you and your sinistral tidbits
are the influencing spice
of an average world,
keeping the world tilting
on its proper axis
make us and
our daily bread rise,
sinistral yeast,
vive la difference,
you are
the best of us
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
The guise of a false hope warily cloaks
an unkempt soul bereft of fortitude -
stolid in the belligerent face of unnamed evil,
an aura of past opulence adulterates naive purity,
the stigma augmented by an insidious breach
of internal asylum. The vulnerability of
a soldier against oneself takes precedence
in the chasmal crusade yet to come; omniscient
intimation gives way to dour prophecies,
ambidextrous in their intricate verbosity.
Molten in the inferno of cross-interrogation,
pliable in the hands of a mortared veteran,
reiteration serves only as a gibe, a grievance
only the most foolish jester would make
before a corroding monarch. The demons
have rallied for annihilation; the starling
warbles an aria of capitulation, its notes
reverberating through the tentative sunset,
a sky of gray and orange mingling with the song
to convey an unequivocal defeat. But after every
dusk comes a period of resurrection, and from the haze
emerges a heroine unrecognizable if not for eyes
ablaze with scarred determination. She strides
with the strength of ten thousand legions, a leviathan's
courage uncovered in her still-beating heart.
The devil flees, uncomfortable in the blinding presence
of mortal accompanied by heavenly body. This -
this is redemption for armor lost, the answer
to her yearning prayers that had been barely audible over the
convulsing sobs that had swallowed her for so long.
Finally vanquished of the toxic beast that had claimed her,
she rises victorious, proclaiming amidst glory a single word -
“Checkmate.”
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
I am a bundle of scars
Ambidextrous
There are too many holes
In my arms
The veins are hiding
Warm fingers coax them
Come back to me
The dog returning to its *****
Hands well calloused
Smelling of diesel and grease
All fun no business
Makes me suicidal
I swore I would never become my father
But the universe finds that funny
If you would come to me
Tell me its alright
I would pass through
The blood-brain barrier
And warm your skin like sunrise
I am a son among the ******
My body feels brittle and ancient
My bones like old stone ruins
Covered in thick green moss
I prize your lies
Kept sealed in jars
Their dim glowing
Keeps me awake
Show me your claws
Show me your fangs
Scrape them on my skull
Play a song on my brain
Impulse control
Dissolved on a spoon
Momentary salvation
And eternal doom
Pincoushin
Nobody else can hurt me
Quite like myself
I've built a tolerance
To everything but you
They'll find my corpse
Tangled in the reeds
Fish eating pieces of me
And taking some home to the family
I am glorified fertilizer
A stacked up dung hill
I think I am something
In my monkey suit and tie
I cannot wait to die
And be at your side
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
Aristotle’s arrhythmic articulations
Appeared too apologetic for Aphrodite's amusements
Aroused by antisocial media’s alacritous abundance
Amidst arteriosclerosis and amphibiously obeisant Ophiuchus
Asclepius' ascendance was almost an abortion
Arrested by Apollo’s amorous attempts at aphrodisia
Ambidextrous Artemis’ androgynous appointments
Awakened ancient antipathies accentuating allopathic artifacts
Altercations arose among ambitious acolytes and Athena’s anorexic acidoses
Awkward Adonis actively agonized by alarming aneurysms
Allowed Antigone’s ambivalent armistice an aperture of acceptance
Appointing an ambiguously appealing additive to the Argonauts
An anaerobic Acropolis arose amidst ********** asphyxiations
As Amazonian armpit hair advocates approved artificial insemination
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
So long I've been without you, my dear.
How I've missed you,
Lend an ear,
I've yearned for your vampiristic images engraved on my skin
Blades each and everyone I named,
leaving signatures in soaked red sin.
We've suffered through one hell of a night,
he's planting ideas in my head
But you must know by now,
I don't cut because I wish I were dead.
Manic Depression, Bipolar, whatever
essentially, being the way I am
brings me to awful places sometimes
the numbness swallows me like quicksand.
Now my bed littered with disassembled razor heads
I dragged the tip across my left hip
silly me, I should have guessed
the scars there are just too thick,
not a single line appears before my eyes
not even the feeling of a pins *****
Thank god, I'm ambidextrous
my right side will do the trick.
Porcelain, unscathed, soft, dewy flesh.
Oh, my.
This is temptation at her best.
My epidermis gives way as she sinks herself in half an inch
delicious, irresistible seductress.
Please, take a gander
this art is some of my most true
For when I am done my ****** masterpiece
the crimson craters read "I Love You".
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
*Forced to write with the right hand,
is it fair?
No,
because not
all are right handed,
I am one of them
but I'm also
not left handed,
I am ambidextrous.
So I have a choice,
which hand is the best.
I just haven't
made up my mind,
I might never
because I like being
the way I was born.
I'm a proud ambidextrous.
To the right,
To the left,
To the in-between,
is just fine with me.
©By Amanda D Shelton
*
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 2:43 AM UTC
This ceremonial façade is likened to an ancient folklore which has been dipped in forbidden secretions, even though my arts are sincerely darkened to unfathomable depths of surprised and ambidextrous naiveté.
I have constructed the choreography of this metaphysical dance, which lingers on the brink of sociological pronunciations, and where the liberty of gargoyles spew their fluid projections from lofty heights across the four directions of our moralistic city walls, where magnetised needles ***** my soul with the earth-shattering clarification of true north.
I love to sit in the dark and to be enlightened, as the eerie silence bellows her validity across trans-national sanctions, where the fallacy of liberation is juxtaposed with a socio-political and fetishistic confinement.
I believe that classical infidelity is like a beautiful Gothic cathedral where silent rage has an ebb and flow which is not easily ascertained amongst our sub-cultural and contemporary cohorts, where dynamic equilibrium truly encapsulates the co-existence of opposites, which are said to attract.
So, as we gather in the menacing serenity of the dark forests, where geography marks her ancient alignments from sunrise to sunset; can we now pray and give homage to the spirits of history, in this underground finesse of paradoxical equilibrium?
I love democracy, as she gyrates her sensual community wantonness on this conveyer belt, where the vital functions of our organism slink into sleepy cessations of universal structures where causality releases her excitatory expressions of organic physiology.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 3:05 AM UTC
1. Read extensivly.spell like a 5th grader
2.my lil bro is a player hater.
3. Have no phobias . Spider webbs make me nervous.
4.I have a real skeleton in my closet. Was a medical student.
5. I hate green eggs and ham.
6.dont know any momma jokes.
7.my cats name is kujo.
8.hope one day to have a room next to ty cobb
9.seriuosly?
10. Am ambidextrous
9.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
born was this day -
the king of the kings
the monarch of the south
the lord of the war elephants
the nightmare of the enemies
the upholder of the righteousness
the fervent patriot of the nation
established had he -
the mightiest empire of the renaissance
the kingdoms that don’t know dearth
the cities with surplus rubies and diamonds
the villages with flourishing greenery and jubilance
the sites with fascinating monuments
the territories with impenetrable borders
known was he as -
the ambidextrous sword fighter
the indomitable malla wrestler
the maven of the fine arts
the polyglot patron of the five languages
the prudent administrator and strategist
the paragon of an ideal ruler
been had he –
the hope of the people
the savior of the Hindu culture
the beacon among his contemporaries
the generous and the inclusive king
the valiant frontline military general
the esteemed scholar and poet
ended had he –
the atrocities on the peasants
the societal repression on the women
the ludicrous taxes on the residents
the brutal conquests of the invaders
the pernicious rituals in the communities
the chaos and disunity among the kingdoms
left has he -
the fear in the evil
the legacy of his deeds
the stories of his glorious reign
the prolific heritage sites to the people
the spectacular literary upsurge
the inspiration for the united India
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 1:54 AM UTC
Do you wanna hear a secret?
She says,
I took some pills again,
I sat down on my bed,
She says,
And after about 20 I looked down at my hand,
And asked myself,
What the hell am I doing?
My best friend,
Your blades are double sided,
One cuts you,
One cuts me,
While the reality is,
Just a little blurry,
One night,
When he was extra flirty,
And now your friends say
YOU'RE FAULT.
you must be ambidextrous,
Cuz I can speak for the rest of us,
While your right hand,
Shovels white suicide pills,
Deeper down your throat,
Your left hand,
Raises death,
To my lips.
They say pain,
Is a double edged sword,
And you've been shoving daggers in my mouth since we were nine,
It's about time,
You realized,
Ending your life,
Ends MINE.
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
THis is the best time to do it..
under the influence...
I shall do nothing but sit
if only if only
you were frreee.
i would have you for my own
even if you loved me
hold me tight
and hold me well
you do it better,
than anyone else will.
this here is nothing but words
words of wisdom
and of truth
and of my kingdom
dont say anthing for this is it
my one and only jibberish
i have come and i have gone
maybe i shouldnt have
**** happens.
i miss my other half
i am i **** and not at all
you see me sleeping in the hall
you say nothing to me
but soon hopefully you will see.
i write words
all day.
i say words
and i play
you can kiss me on the cheek
but im miserable
and beat.
crazy incentive and
ambidextrous lesson
create a passion for you and me
i will love you
you hold my key
this is nothing and everything in a scrambled lullaby of missing emotions.
i need you and some of me
in this sweet melody
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 1:17 AM UTC
i think what i'm trying to say is that
i wanna know what hand you write with.
that's what i'm interested in,
right, left, maybe even ambidextrous—
show me your birthmarks, and the
little scar you got when you were a kid.
there's a story in your body, on your skin,
and i want to listen to you tell it,
running my fingertips across your freckles
as if i were blind.
Mar 5, 2021
Mar 5, 2021 at 1:42 PM UTC
The quartet became a trio
The trio became a duet
The duet became a solo act
The first chair was ambidextrous
His hands worked as a duo
He called them Cain and Abel
They had great reflexes
He washed them with soap and water
He played in light houses
Night clubs
Tin Pan Alley
He sang about tapped phones
With a dead pan, dry humor
And dehydrated wit
To a room full of sugar daddies and their sugar babies
His music left them befuddled but hungry for more
He ate nothing but black bean brownies for weeks
Any tiny morsel of food he could find to survive
He wore a pork pie hat
And would always say "lather rinse repeat"
To him racism was a detestable invention of mankind
*********
He cringed at that word
But when he got on stage at The Tree Trunk a moment of tranquility commenced
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC