"anxiously" poems
time is
the space in which we grow
without awareness
in our early years
structured by meals
arrivals and departures
light and dark
hot and cold
school studies play adventures
celebrations
and by waiting
anxiously or not
for things to happen
time is
that feeling
that we may not have enough of it
in our later years
busy with jobs and family and travel
covering long distances in order to
achieve and educate and care
time is
what starts to rush by us
with increasing speed
in our final years
making us wonder
what it really means
that space
by which we measure
our lives
our universes
our worlds
time is
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC
*Long lines looped the carousel
the first time you gazed my eye,
mounted on that chestnut mare,
grasped tight to the reigns up high.
I see his face around the bend,
a corn dog in his hand.
Locking eyes as I rise. I blush,
above the crowd he stands.
Light flickers, mouths water
delicate contoured lips laugh. I smile.
The music hesitates along with my breath.
I think I'll be staying awhile.
Bewildered and a little dizzy,
I dismount with a giggle.
I lick my dry lips, dreamily,
hoping he is single.
With the wind, a light mist blows.
I can see her slowly get wet,
stumbling she falls my way.
I'm excited, this day isn't over yet
Drip, drip, drip upon my face,
anxiously, I turn to hurry.
In my haste, he catches my waist
swallowing... I fall covertly.
Lips moisten, I pull her near
a kiss, slipped, tongues twirl,
wanton whispers whisked away,
drenched deep passion's unfurl.
A stranger's kiss upon my lips
beneath the dreary skies.
Soaking wet, I'm still on fire
He caught me by surprise.
A stranger's kiss upon my lips
beneath the queching skies.
Heaven sent, a burning desire;
she, such a welcomed surprise.*
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 1:37 PM UTC
Enamored of the possible, and racing,
Through a winding maze of endless choices,
Daunted by the obstacles we're facing, and
Dizzied by the clamor's many voices,
Shackled by a heavy chain of causes,
Binding us to all we've ever known,
The many paths before us give us pause, as
We struggle to define which are our own,
Within a world that's not of our own making
We anxiously await the day we'll find,
A journey worthy of our undertaking, so
That purpose in our lives may be defined, but
Perhaps our fate condemns us all to wander, and
Our lives are merely mysteries to ponder
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC
Time isn't wasted at the end of the day
When you're in bed thinking about all the things
You could've done,
You could've said,
All the empty boxes left on your to do list
Time is wasted
When you're standing on a rock at the edge of a waterhole
And decide to not jump
When you're sitting in your car trying to justify reasons
For not going in
When you anxiously hit backspace
Instead of expressing how you truly feel
When you ignore your heart that's screaming
"You deserve better."
It's lost in I could have and I should have,
In missed opportunities,
In letting fears override judgement
Time is not necessarily wasted
In passing minutes, months, years
We waste time by
Counting seconds,
And by letting seconds pass
When we could've made
Those seconds count
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
What if
I had fallen to my knees
On the cold parking lot concrete
Tears washing over my cheeks
And cries no one should ever have to hear
Bellowing out from beneath my ribs
Screaming at the sky
Looking up at your face
Forcing you
(and everyone else)
To see me in this godforsaken state
Of absolute chaos
Heartbreak
In it's rawest form
What if I had begged you to stay?
What if I'd told you I can't do this without you?
What if I'd told you how much I needed you
What if I did anything other than fighting back the tears
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Mostly for the crowd of people gathering
Saying their goodbyes
Anxiously looking around to bear witness to everyone else's reactions
And I didn't want to be that girl
That girl who falls to the ground
Kicking and screaming and crying and begging
But what if I was?
What if I was any girl other than the one I pretended to be that day
The one that held her tongue and kept her mouth shut because she knew the second she opened it to speak she would sob
The one that wrapped her arms around you for the last time,
and the one that let go
The one that couldn't bear to watch you walk away
So she kissed you goodbye
Got back in the car
And drove home
What if i wasn't that girl who didnt allow herself to completely fall apart until she was alone in the privacy of her own home?
What if instead I'd made a scene,
Doing what everything inside me so desperately wanted to
Grabbing hold of your hand and refusing to let go
Losing the facade of confidence
The charade of strength
But I'm not that girl
And I never will be
So each and every time you leave
I kiss you goodbye
I unclench my fists and retract my anchors
I untether my heart from it's human home
And I put on a brave face
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Or maybe
For that girl.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC
I only loved you
when it was
Convenient
I'm really sorry
that I didn't think
of you
( When it really mattered.)
What's the matter with my
soul? It isn't correct
but nothing feels wrong.
I feel something , I don't know
if it's "sorry".
Looking into the void.
I think I seen you.
Reached out.
We met again.
For the first time.
It was love
Possibly maybe.
holding on to right now.
Frozen. your face perfection.
Eyes closed.
Waiting so anxiously for you
to open them.
You don't.
My heart arrested by your beauty.
Shatters when you chose not
to look at me.
I don't feel any signs of growing.
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
( Filipino orTagalog version)
di sumasapit ang pagtulog
sa isang kaluluwang
sabik at di mapakali
isang pusong ubod tiyaga
ngayo'y balisang tumitibok
sa kabila ng malumanay
na pag patak ng ulan...
sa kaunting salitang nagbibigay kasiyahan
parang simoy ng hangin, may mga dalang palamuti
mga matatamis na pangako ng
maluwalhating bukas,
lumutang sa kapaligiran
at binago ang malamlam na
lagay ng kalooban.
ang mga darating na araw
ay muling yayabong.
isang kaluluwang hapong hapo
di-inaasaha'y, napangiti
sa unang pagkakataon
mga matatamis na tunog ng mahihinang
halakhak ay paulit-ulit na tumaginting
sa kalaliman ng gabi.
itong di maampat-ampat na pananabik
aking panalangin ay
tuluyan nang pumayapa
dito sa dilim, ako'y nakahimlay
habang ang mga pangarap ng pag-asa
ay alak na lumalasing sa aking pag-iisip.
kasabay ng pagdatal ng madaling-araw,
nabubuhay na lalo ang mga bagong isipin
na lalong nagpapasigla sa aking utak...
mulat na mulat ang aking mga mata
di na sasapit pa ang antok
di na sasapit pa ang pagtulog...
::::::::::
(ENGLISH VERSION)
SLEEP DOESN'T COME...
Sleep doesn’t come
To an eager, restless soul.
A heart so patient
now beats anxiously,
Even with the gentle rhythm
Of raindrops tapping.
With just a few satisfying words
Sprinkled with whiffs of hope,
So magical,
A promise of a glorious tomorrow
Floated in the air
And altered the somber mood.
The coming days are to flourish
Once more.
Unexpectedly,
A soul gone weary
Smiled for the first time.
The sweet sound of soft laughter
Unheard in the still of the night.
This insatiable needing
I pray, to be quelled soon..
Here in the dark, I lay awake,
As visions of hope inebriate my mind.
With dawn comes new ideas,
Stimulating my brain even more..
.......my eyes are wide open........
.......sleep wouldn’t come at all……
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
The human soul was threshed out like maize
in the endless
granary of defeated actions,
of mean things that happened,
to the very edge of endurance, and beyond,
and not only death, but many deaths,
came to each one:
each day a tiny death, dust, worm, a light
flicked off in the mud at the city's edge,
a tiny death with coarse wings
pierced into each man like a short lance
and the man was besieged by the bread or by the knife,
the cattle-dealer: the child of sea-harbours,
or the dark captain of the plough,
or the rag-picker of snarled streets:
everybody lost heart, anxiously waiting for death,
the short death of every day:
and the grinding bad luck of every day was
like a black cup that they drank,
with their hands shaking.
10k
Remember me as a time of day in the same way you create an acute awareness of the sun beginning to stream through by the ill protective armor of your window.
As your alarm goes off in the morning remember me in those moments that you wipe the sleep away from your eyes and vaguely remember your dream which was once your most vivid reality.
Remember me like I am three hours past noon and you're reminiscing on the days that once existed when you would be dying to leave the four walls of your adolescent day job.
Remember me like I'm the comfort of your favorite jacket you would throw on to protect yourself from the cold, day in and day out.
Remember me like I'm 4:45 in the morning and you're in your teenage years contemplating if it's still okay for you to wake mom and dad out of their deep sleep just to go along with your love for Christmas morning.
In that time remember me like I'm the peace that surrounded you and the excitement that caused you to lose sleep.
Remember me as I'm seconds short of nine in the evening and you sit by the fire awaiting your favorite TV show.
In that moment remember me as the adventure you anxiously awaited your eyes to meet, and the shadow of the warmth cast around your feet.
Remember me as a time of day through sun up and sun down
whether there or not through time will I arrive by regards of the clock and I'll meet your mind as I stand watch.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 1:46 AM UTC
The table is set for our thanksgiving feast
and all have taken their place
The meal of the year, is finally here,
and oh, how great it will taste..
Potatoes and gravy and cranberry sauce,
and rolls that are made fresh and hot.
Turkey with stuffing, right out of the oven.
Pumpkin pie that hasn’t been bought.
Our family is anxiously gathered around
in a circle of love hand in hand.
A scene reminiscent of thanksgivings past.
A tradition we all understand.
Dad offers a prayer of thanksgiving to God
for abundance of blessings we share.
Tears touch his cheeks as he humbly gives thanks
for much more than the food that is there.
Though stomachs are empty, each heart is full
while united as family we pray,
Thanking dear God for His wonderful love,
and our blessings this Thanksgiving Day.
When this day is gone and life carries on,
may gratitude live on in me.
Lord help me, I pray, to make every day
a day of thanksgiving to Thee.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:40 AM UTC
There is no need for
discernable lines
in the moment
I am content.
there is no need for anything.
but the moment.
naked & anxiously
awaiting reawakening
& my hands betray me
by shaking & blantantly saying
you've swayed me
it's crazy.
today I created nothing
& I am wasted anything
& everything.
but it's okay.
the mosaic is
a face faded
in the foreground.
this is fair ground.
today I'll walk on air
today I'll float on clouds
today I'll foam at the mouth
then I'll roll around
in my beloved filth
that you brought about.
be proud,
I can't be without it.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:27 AM UTC
A third down my life
Assuming living till 75 or so
I stood with pride
Waving profusely towards the younger me
Vulnerable age
Anxiously lost
Yet,
I seek for your salvation and comfort
So Brave, Silly and Bold
Even in great fear you step out for the unknown
Applause for your courage
Appreciate your sincerity
Adore your ignorance
Mostly
Being Awkward with yourself
Avoiding intimidation with the world
Used to loath the sight of humans
Endless introductions
Just drained the helpless soul
A third down the road
Accepting new faces
Enjoying small talks
Occasionally misplaced myself as well
Still,
I Am become a statement to hold
At ease with my presence
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
I remember sitting by the lake, my legs pulled against me in the darkness.
The sky flashing above me and the wind whispering through the air.
So many feelings in one night...
The water glistened with each strike of lightening and shook with each deep rumble of thunder.
The grayness of it all was enough to make any and all wonders unparalleled in my mind.
I wish I was on a boat in the storm feeling each and every motion of the water.
I wish I could have felt it breathe in and out and cradle me in its arms.
I wish I could have tasted the moisture in the air and smelled the rain.
I know that no matter where I go, whenever I hear the rain that lake is quaking anxiously awaiting my return.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
the other day i sat alone having lunch in a McDonalds.
i found the Big Mac enjoyable and the wedge fries good enough
but what i truly loved was the cold-ass Oreo McFlurry.
actually, that's a half-lie because the cold-ass Oreo McFlurry
wasn't the only thing i truly loved from that McDonalds lunch.
when i was McSpooning the creamy goodness using my left hand,
the hand that should be reserved for ice cream related endeavors,
this girl wearing a polka-dot dress and a beret came in, stood in line,
and i heard her order: Big Mac, wedge fries and an Oreo McFlurry.
she anxiously tapped her right foot, the foot that should be reserved for tapping,
and i felt love for the first time in months. i didn't know her but i was in love.
it was the kind of momentary love developed for strangers that makes you think:
**** I wish we could sit together in silence at a McDonalds, mouths full,
eating Big Macs, wedge fries and McFlurries being the envy of McDonalds residents."
and then the stranger asks for her order to go and the universe collapses.
the momentary love begins fading slowly and the fantasy is enveloped by greasy fast food smells.
reality is a ***** girl in the polka-dot dress and beret.
it's been 5 minutes since you left. i miss you.
it's been 10 minutes since you left. i've tried forgetting you.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:31 PM UTC
.
What is a poet to do
when his favourite muse
faints whilst making love,
a victim of passions fuse.
To carry on regardless?
Perhaps slap her lovely cheek?
Mouth 2 mouth no tongue?
Or maybe implore her to speak?
A lesser poet
shakes her anxiously
and writes a verse about prowess and spooning.
A True poet
carries on regardless
and writes a sonnet about his muse and swooning.
© Pagan Paul (23/05/18)
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 2:09 PM UTC
Do you see her?
There with the hair with side parting.
Do you know how much she have been hurting?
I've been watching her,
Everyday she puts on her makeup and smile,
She's been doing that for a while.
There's something she's hiding,
Those eyes tell something else,
Especially when there's no one else.
I've heard she said sorry once,
Sorry if she's boring them,
She was talking anxiously but stop in middle.
Like somewhere in her mind that being her is just too much.
At the end of each day,
There's something different than when she came,
It's like the whole day she's just struggling to survive.
Being overworked trying to show how she's alive.
Outside the public world,
Her life is not quite alright,
Those circles under her eyes were not overnight,
And those coffees were always the lightest roast ; Burnt not even a slight.
-HIY
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
I Am Waiting
I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the Second Coming
and I am waiting
for a religious revival
to sweep thru the state of Arizona
and I am waiting
for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored
and I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am waiting
to see God on television
piped onto church altars
if only they can find
the right channel
to tune in on
and I am waiting
for the Last Supper to be served again
with a strange new appetizer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for my number to be called
and I am waiting
for the Salvation Army to take over
and I am waiting
for the meek to be blessed
and inherit the earth
without taxes
and I am waiting
for forests and animals
to reclaim the earth as theirs
and I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody
and I am waiting
for linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I am waiting for lovers and weepers
to lie down together again
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered
by an obscure general practitioner
and I am waiting
for the storms of life
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the day
that maketh all things clear
and I am awaiting retribution
for what America did
to Tom Sawyer
and I am waiting
for Alice in Wonderland
to retransmit to me
her total dream of innocence
and I am waiting
for Childe Roland to come
to the final darkest tower
and I am waiting
for Aphrodite
to grow live arms
at a final disarmament conference
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting
to get some intimations
of immortality
by recollecting my early childhood
and I am waiting
for the green mornings to come again
youth’s dumb green fields come back again
and I am waiting
for some strains of unpremeditated art
to shake my typewriter
and I am waiting to write
the great indelible poem
and I am waiting
for the last long careless rapture
and I am perpetually waiting
for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn
to catch each other up at last
and embrace
and I am awaiting
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
to be young and beautiful
is desperate and dumb!
to have it all
to get nothing, none!
to need it bad
anxiously wanting some.
sleepless nights,
dreams of ***
pain is
promiscuity at bedrest.
angry abstinence shouts
this is a cruel test!
pretty doll face,
glowing of grace.
why have this body?
and not share its joy
why be a good ol' girl
If you cannot love a handsome bad boy?
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
I felt her presence,
hovering over my grave like a mothers last prayers
Like a fathers burning sorrows after thirty years drunk
Alone she stood, framed against the soft blowing trees,
and the dancing wildflowers that were placed as an ode to the dead
She held orange petals to herself,
close to her chest, as if to let them hear a heartbeat,
but the ear of a flower only picks up meaningful noises,
not the slow tempo of a withered muscle,
overworked from exhaustion
She wore black, knee high leather boots,
and a matching jacket
Her hair was wild, and she looked *****
She smelled of ***** and no showers,
cigarettes and sweat and blood
She looked of regret,
and her eyes sang tunes of pessimism
Anxiously she removed the bright flowers from her *****
Poppies, by the look of it
She presented them to the face of my headstone,
cracked and eroded with age, my name barely recognizable
Left with nothing, her fingers went to her short blonde hair,
matted and encrusted with dirt
She ran her hands nervously throughout, eyes constantly distracted
Suddenly, she focused hard on the headstone
A tear fell from her eye, and I watched it soak into the concrete
Her lips moved in familiar shapes, but words were lost to me
Every word
But one
A name
Abigail
And she turned away, walking crookedly into the wind and rain
And though I know she was talking to me,
I could feel the name on her lips, see it in her eyes
She scratched the insides of her arms as she disappeared from sight,
and I felt a longing in my own
"I walked away from myself that day. I gave it all up for hope. I guess this just goes to show what it's worth. Maybe I'll understand it one day, but for now, I am dead to everyone including myself."
Abigail Hollow
Jan 1992 - Aug 2008
A loving daughter, sister and poet.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
What an ironic place of mind
When something I've wanted for awhile
Finally presents itself
And I'm overwhelmed so intensely
By anxiety and sadness
How long have I hoped to meet up?
How many times had I mentioned coffee?
Yet here I am
Three days before I see you
For the first time in a year and a half
And I feel so sad
It's as though
I am finally mourning the loss
Of someone who was my best friend
Finally letting myself feel about you
All of the things I've repressed
It has been a long time
We both must be so different now
What would that mean for this?
Do we meet up once
Play a game of catch up
Then resume the path of strangers?
Or do we try to be friends again
And run the risk of pain and heartache?
Does our intense shared anxiety
At just the sight of each other
Signal a similar message
A similar desire within us both?
Or am I stuck within a fantasy
Lying to myself that this could work
That you could be in my life again
We were not made to be lovers
And I don't believe in happenstance
I do think we came together for a reason
Just as we've become reconnected now
The city may be small
But this has to be more than coincidence
You were my best friend back then
And I know I hurt you deeply
But part of me hasn't stopped believing
That our lives staying connected
Is something that's meant to be
And I know that
When I'm sitting anxiously in my car
Outside the cafe where we're set to meet
Thoughts racing faster than my heart beats
I'll have to fully prepare myself
To find out that you disagree
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 12:50 AM UTC
.
*I awake in the night and whisper your name,
is it just a dream when only silence replies?
a melancholy descends like a blanket of shame
at the arousal of remembering your Siren's eyes.
Such sleep as I had not enjoyed in long ages
disturbed by the intrusion of an old lovers face,
rearing up to unbalance the serenity pages,
your name passes my lips with yearning grace.
Unsettled by your surprise and quiet arrival
I lay back, anxiously sigh to the waiting void,
uneasy closing my eyes, craving dream survival
but the illusion of rest has now been destroyed.
I sleep in the night and whisper your name,
is it a dream as the silent in mute rejoice?
A sadness drops slow like a blanket of shame,
at the distance of remembering your Siren's voice.*
© Pagan Paul (21/10/18)
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
I pride myself on differences,
but know at heart we're all one
I tried to do the dishes,
but only two knives made the cut.
Now I wonder if I can
accomplish more than thought possible
judging dull wounds in grunting cans;
feeling pistol grooves and wrist slitters,
I am at home again.
Lying, mining, dying figure heads
make their way to the foot of my bed,
and ask if they may lull me to sleep
with dreams of pneumonia and epilepsy.
I ask them to politely leave,
but they perch on boasting names of society,
reciting to me, too condescendingly,
"surely, we know better than you."
Now all of their heads fit askew.
Save the money and excuse for material attachment.
Keep running through your doll houses.
I pull on my hair to make it grow.
You pull on heart strings to teach a lesson, I suppose
we're in the same sinking boat.
But you are my vital poison.
My body collapses- a muted a noise and-
each time I awake perfectly poised
at your feet and frozen mouth.
How will I ever make you love me now?
Life's a Hawaii postcard
pleading, "go experience the vibrant colors."
There's more to see beyond the rainbow trees,
but they'll still satisfy most cravings.
Every threaded fiber of my being
keeps me pondering
if cells are just too shy to speak,
or if they've always spoken through me,
whispering, "scratch to win the lottery."
I want to write children's books,
and release doves from hidden cages;
watch awe wipe over next generation;
use my candies as their safe haven.
Away this world that have caused them pain-
I Am its new name.
Affection is a mistress of mine.
I still crave her like sunlight.
stare into her eye until I am blind
She's addicting even after she harms you.
I'll keep my heals neck deep
in anxiously wading water.
til I sing it into deep sleep,
its current pulls me under.
and I am at home again.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:05 AM UTC
Sometimes you feel
left out.
Watching people from the side,
at the end.
"I need some water!"
Here.
Let me get that for you.
Because I'm at the end.
Waiting anxiously
at the end of the bench.
Wait. Here he comes!
"Go in."
Oh. He wasn't talking to me.
Watching people from the side,
at the end.
Sometimes you feel
left out.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 10:05 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Crawling down the streets
on pouring rain
darkness cares of creeps
hovering their pain
the lamp post on their niche
thunder blunders a hit
to an abbey
where we used to meet
with white lane trails
and colored vales
a flashback in memory lane
Time used to stop and stare
for a while
to vanish the pain, I bare
and look a step back
from the mile
There...
were we used to melt away
from cones of treats
and giggled from candies
we barely eat
with swirling clouds in play
gazing our hearts
in the moss of grass, we lay
Then a change led you to leave
you cared nothing
but your selfish greed
anxiously I gave all of Me
but just to realize
you gave nothing of thee
As I die
a sign in my heart reside
an echo awakening
a brave woman, a reborn rite
with wiped away tears
and faking leers
she flaunts out her pain
A brave woman
brave enough to begin again
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 12:04 PM UTC