"chaotically" poems
My voice trembles
words spill over lips chaotically
I want to fix my mistakes
and I want to explain
but my trembling voice makes all seem like lies
and the shaking voice that had felt like my own
smoothed out
letting the lies flow through
without my own consent
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
A marvel millions of years in the making.
Where the womb of Earth chaotically meets the surface.
Under a clear blue sky, an expanse of bliss -
But beneath gray rolling clouds, an endless enigma.
The easiest world to get lost in
is one where everything can be found.
One can only build a sand castle where the sand is wet.
But where the sand is wet, the tide comes.
Will it gently lick at your foundations until you give in?
Or will a sudden wave send you crashing down in the blink of an eye?
Either way the outcome is the same.
Yet we still build sand castles.
I stand where the foam wraps around my ankles.
Where my toes squish into the sand.
The salty air is therapeutic.
The breeze is gentle, yet powerful.
I sink my toes into the ultimate boundary line, tempted by the foamy tendrils.
Turn back, and I abandon my peace to erode at the shore.
Drift forward, and I return to Earth forevermore.
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 5:51 PM UTC
Ripples riddle the mirror,
Below, faint shapes shift
Elegant forms float here and there,
Little legs thunder, leaving a gentle wake
in lieu of turmoil.
The air is thick, the sun falling,
Already lost behind billowing storm clouds
Etched chaotically on the horizon.
Invisible but for the ubiquitous light.
It is the dragonflies time,
A darting zip and an effortless flutter.
From surfacing **** to towering Reed,
Searching for something we can only pretend to know.
Determined housewives, faces set,
Arms pumping and hips swaying
Their Anatidean waddle so fitting
Their quacks, a wall of stereo.
A lone rusted sign warns of gators,
but of signs, there is that one alone.
No rogue bubbles or beady eyes,
no ticking of swallowed clocks,
no suspicious splashes.
nothing.
My battery is now as low as the sun,
and my pen is as empty.
A not so subtle poke in the ribs
from a universe in protest of the
bad poetry being inked.
c'est la vie
or as we say in English
**** it
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
It was 3 PM on a Tuesday
in the summer, just before
my first semester of college.
I went out on a whim and
bought a cheetah print lava
lamp for forty six dollars
at some stand in the mall,
despite you persistently
advising me not to
waste money on
"insignificant ****
The next day it rained
from 7 AM until 5 PM
and I forced you to lie
in bed with me all day,
with the curtains drawn
& the lights out.
I wanted us to observe
the weird, red
shapes forming
inside my new cheetah
print lava lamp...
Something about it
captivated me.
I never had one as a kid,
And you just sat there
holding my hand for
fifty eight minutes before
I whispered, "did you see
how pretty that one was?"
You laughed gently
and shifted your eyes
toward my dresser,
at which point
I realized
that was the very first time
you looked away from me
since we had laid down
And
with that thought,
the butterflies
woke so chaotically,
I thought I'd never
catch my breath
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
We are each our own moon.
Charismatic souls reflecting sunlight,
As if to illuminate a room,
We glow against black, void; an endless night.
Like a caterpillar to a butterfly, emerging from a tight knit cocoon,
Spreading each wing, confidently slicing the evening air…taking flight.
Or even a flower freshly bloomed on a midsummer’s afternoon.
The moon: a flower, silently smiling despite the plight.
Aside from what each day shuffles in; each night simmers out
No matter how often we feel we have lost ourselves…
Or leave way to fill our heads with doubt.
With recurring assumptions of a worldwide redemption:omnipotent stealth.
Needn't some take longer than others to sprout?
Staring blankly into a mirror, or a moonless night sky: hungry for answers, yet facing an empty shelf.
However, that doesn't infer we embark on a divergent route.
Simply due to lack of clarity, lack of reasoning behind each card dealt.
With that in mind,
Just as the moon,true colors may dwindle…they may fade, yet in essence are always there.
Even on a cloudy day, or when the sunshine is at its peak…and just as well for the blind.
Full moon, half moon, new moon…waxing, waning: dynamic phases the night sky shares.
Moon phases;moody faces…natures way of emphasizing personality defined.
Notwithstanding the dark side, each moon may wear.
Like a guilty pleasure manifesting in a secret shrine,
We all suppress a certain side; to pompous to face reality genuinely bare.
Fragments of our faces may always be hidden,
But there’s one thing that will never absorb into the eclipse: emotion.
Some figure each phase, each wave of vibes … simply fate already written.
Devils advocate begs to differ… let your mind emit all distraction and harmonize with the ocean.
Effervescent rays,warm barrels in which emotions, old and new, have ridden.
Chaotically contradicting thoughts, pulling and pushing, creating the paradox of serene commotion.
A world of words from each moon face: a beautiful encryption.
We are each our own moon, written in the waves, compelled by life’s devotion.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
four arms, two legs
supporting one head, with three eyes
wearing five serpents as ornaments
slithering around us
hissing their wisdom into our ears
as we rested atop the skin
of a tiger, desire
I could see him, in us
extending out his six limbs
two on the ground
two on her
and two on I
and we were within one mind
six, six, six
one mind, with three eyes
the third, sought to destroy
Kama, desire
to right her body
into the form which she deserved
as ashes
of which we wore on our skin
she spoke of the hunting
of skinwalkers
extending out so gracefully
towards me
we were within one mind
with three eyes
and a crescent moon
lain upon our forehead
eternal in the midst of Chaos
in the midst of evolution
destruction,
for the cause of transformation
my claws extended out
as light is pulled
by a black hole
of which was her
and my lips loosened
exposing my sharp teeth
and we worshiped one another
in our destruction
becoming exposed
and feral
so I let out a yell
in the middle of the street
in front of a mother
and her children
as we were covered
in the ashes of Kama
the end
of all material existence
rest our garlands of skulls
over our necks
bowed
and said goodbye
now Shakti swims in my blood
and dances with my Soul
for I am still in
that black hole
headed out, in
to the other side
truly, Chaotically
enjoying the ride
dynamism in in me
as I live, Truly
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
Shadow of the past,
echo of the future;
dedicated Musician,
a Phonomancer;
and inspired Philosopher,
a Philosomancer.
A Mystic and a Metalhead,
a lifetime Scholar and a self-Teacher;
a determined and self-guided mythic Artist,
a psychologist and an Observer;
I am a Lover, a Father, and a Son,
a homeowner and a Dishwasher,
a Friend and a bit of a stoner,
a social drinker and a fan of quality Spirits;
I am a self-contained Universe
contained within another Universe;
so fractal-esque.
There is much to this being I call "me"
and so little of it is visible
from the surface of my awareness;
so much of it falls within-
within the limitless void;
to be revealed only in Time,
and, to be unraveled by Time.
Discerning, yet reckless,
a wise man and a fool;
I find myself within,
and within myself,
a beautifully chaotic dance
of chaotically diverse energies.
Within:
the Spirit of a Renaissance Man;
Music, Geometry, Cosmology,
Mathematics, Statistics, Physics,
Mythology, Musicology, Psychology,
Masculine, Feminine, Canine, Feline,
Light, Dark, Day, Night, Sun, Moon,
Anthropology, Cooking, Dreams,
*** Love, Lust, and Suffering,
Spirituality, Science, Language,
Contrast, Respect, Individualist,
Intuition, Feeling, Understanding,
Action, Non-Action, Elation,
a bit of a Goth and a Hippie,
a Rocker and a Composer,
Haphazard Attention to Detail,
Conscious, Shadow, Subconscious,
Id, Ego, Super-Ego,
Animal, Human Being.
Alive.
Mortal.
Mortal,
and grateful for it.
An aspiring,
amateur Shaman
who "shows promise";
dabbling in Feng Shui,
the Occult,
T'ai Chi,
the Tao, Zen,
Music,
Art,
and Life;
a dilettante Poet;
I am an ephemeral expression,
a temporary microcosm,
of both the Human Spirit
and the very Universe
in which we occur,
if for but a brief,
beautiful,
fleeting,
moment.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
For once in my life I am speaking out
Not just in the form of a violent excuse of a poem
But to the faces of those who make me pout
For once in my life I'm saying what I mean
It takes courage to be honest to even myself
Courage I never ******* had it seems
Chaotically formed and tumbling from my spout
If speaking my mind makes me a *****
Then let me be the biggest ***** and hear me shout
Because you've had me on and stuck like an itch
I've had about enough so hear me out
Such friends you all are excluding me
From your games and fun and goss and parties
While I sit and watch and try to believe
That every nasty thing you say is not about me
I get it, you're right, I talk about things
That you can't relate to
As love to you is all about rings
I've gone through more than any of you
Would care to hear about from my ramblings
I've outgrown you all before you gave me a chance to prove
My worth is not worn out by nasty old things
Like you and her and the rest of your gang
So let your jaws drop at my sudden burst of honesty
Because you're heads are in your own *****
And you don't deserve to be eaten by me
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 4:01 AM UTC
I feel a presence nagging at me,
like a dull, constant ache,
only more.
Its almost as if there is a scared little child,
deep down, begging to escape the dark.
While this passenger tugs at my heartstrings,
everything blurs out of focus.
Struggling with keeping order,
my thoughts jumble chaotically.
Every once and awhile, though,
I find moments of clarity,
and those are the most precious moments of all.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
Brown-gray whiskers
chaotically twirling
wreath his face.
A testament to hardship
and wisdom accumulated.
His eyes are an ocean
deep and unknowable.
Monsters swim in its deep,
Indescribable.
His face is cracked and wrinkled
but the skin is taut
too tight and jawline stretched.
Mist-like hair meets shoulders,
greasily tangling.
In front of him a rust spotted buggy,
creaking
groaning
holds his world.
Trash bag continents slide against each other
making new mountains,
transforming
shopping cart geography.
I meet his eyes on the sidewalk
but quickly look away.
I always look away.
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 1:04 AM UTC
Uncertainty.
I cannot be sure of anything,
Except uncertainty.
Uncertainty, certainly.
Eternity.
The thing that lasts forever,
But only seems to exist in the future.
Semi-Eternity.
Living internally.
Serenity.
You can only
Know it truly
If you have lived chaotically,
This price-tagged serenity.
Uncertainty.
When does eternity start?
Have I paid in full for my serenity?
Uncertainty.
Must I live this eternity
With uncertainty in my heart,
Always chasing the serenity
That my chaotic life has bought?
-CM
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
I've been awake for too long.
Sleeping every night you'd think I would've got the hang of it by now
But the last year, sleep has eluded me.
Now I sit pre-dawn hour.
Preparing myself.
Settling an upset stomach,
Turmoil of emotions.
A sea of anxiety -
Chaotically churning chyme
As time goes turning on.
Fooled myself that I was neutral.
That I would be happy no matter the outcome.
Yet, here I am. Sweating fear.
Like I'm out gun so I have to out run bullets.
Radical Critical Acceptance.
Is my only line of defense
Against the offense of uncertainty
No point worrying about what I'm going to be dealt - pointless action.
Deal me the cards and I'll work from there.
We're all **** in the new dawn.
Naked in our actions, our motives
All wanting a plethora of letters
In a hundred different combinations.
So as that sun rises
Like a single old wise iris
Dispelling it's light on me
I wonder -
what will today bring?
Either way, I'm certified that I'm leaving.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
I love her.
With every inch of me, since day one.
When her hair is messy.
Uncombed and curly,
Pulled back into a sloppy ponytail
That falls so chaotically across her shoulders.
With several strands pulled out, framing her face.
A cigarette delicately tucked, safely behind her ear.
I love her.
After she wakes up.
Eyes blackened from her obsessive and excessive use of makeup.
With awful breath and resting ***** face,
She is Beautiful.
I love her.
When we stand outside.
And rays of sunshine illuminate her brown eyes,
Turning them into endless vats of amber,
Untouched by man.
Glistening until the end of time.
I love her.
When she is curled into me.
Sleeping deeply and soundly,
Snoring louder than my thoughts,
Shaking and Twitching from whatever goes on in her beautiful subconscious.
I love her.
With no expectations of reciprocation.
I understand I do not fit the criteria due to inevitable reasons.
One day I will, and it will be beautiful.
I love her.
And because of that I will change.
I will become what she needs because if I have her my body does not matter.
She is the one of my dreams.
The one I think about at midday and midnight.
The one my most lovely of poems are of.
The one I have only truly loved.
She does not find me attractive in the way I do her.
But that is okay.
Because I love her.
And one day,
She Will Love Me
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 11:10 PM UTC
I stand on this mountain top
Looking at the beautiful terrestrial contours
As I smooch the benevolent dew drop
I stand mesmerized by the lands
Which comfortably sit in innocence
Bearing all barbarisms in its belly and saying nothing to terroristic bands
I am standing here
Closer to God
Asking how she can all these bear
My land, peaceful from afar
Chaotically rendered by illiterates of wisdom
Always looking for opinions from afar
If only I could sit here forever
On this mountain top without being hunted down
My happiness and peace of mind will be forever
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
My heart lives dangerously.
It spirals out of control
from time to time.
There is no safety net.
My brain lives chaotically.
It goes off the deep end
from time to time.
There is no organization.
I live with you in my mind.
I can't stop thinking about you
from time to time.
There is nothing but love.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
Bittersweet Seventeen,
Ophelia drove me absent of fear,
And chaotically -
Led me to bridges most unclear.
Embittered Eighteen,
She exposed her lethal shrine,
And recklessly –
I sunk in her deathly design.
By and by,
I now exist with one dead eye.
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 10:56 PM UTC
#
*You are a tremendous overthinker
that's for sure. Taking a person like
you on.. with all your chaos
is no small task.
In order to do that,
I have to take care of myself..
in order to keep from being
pulled down.. or pulled into
your chaotic whirlwind.
So I create parameters of protection
through my words sometimes
when we talk.
You are not an easy person to take on.
There are few people in the world
that are even able to truly take on a person
like you, within any kind of depth.
That is how chaotically traumatized
the inside of your whole beautiful
body is. And somehow you take it
personally when I try to bring
structure in,. as though you're three
years old,
and you take regular grown up talk
as being some kind of threat.
But.. you are fragmented and ripped
to shreds on the inside by those
who truly brought harm
instead of good when you were little.
From that place inside of you, a
anything feels like judgment.
Anything feels like it's trying to control you
or put things inside you.
I know that.. and I still love you
Loving a person in your condition
requires a certain level of self protection.
It's like I have to tie a
special rope around myself when I
jump into your world.. so I can be
pulled back out.
For me..
The structure of my own words are that rope.
It is the only way I can love you deeply
and enter into your absolutely broken world
Please try to understand..
even though it scares you..
Just how much I need that
If you are able to do that,
then I think you might even be able
to actually love me.
I did not come to steal,
or control..
.. or fix
I came to be there for you
within all of your broken chaos*
#
Oct 15, 2024
Oct 15, 2024 at 12:12 PM UTC
A very firm intention
To tell it as it is
Has the audience attention
On its toes and all afizz,
Though channelled to the circumspect,
With a patterned thought awry
It chaotically cascades
Across the prism of the eye.
It chaotically discharges
In a scattergun array
Of verbal innuendoes
Through a thin, saliva spray,
And all the passion spent in telling,
All the effort of the tale,
Sends a barrage of confusion
To occipital portrayal.
Where the tiny bones of balance
All atremble with the sound
Have discharged interpretation
Through a penny to a pound.
There’s a lost extrapolation,
There’s a blank look on the face
Where the balance of exchange
Has frittered nimbly from this place.
A calmness in both parties
As a sad pretence prevails,
Where communication nexus
Is ignored to save the whales.
Marshalg
Incommunicado
30 May 2012
© 2012 Marshal Gebbie
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC
A chaotically crooked place
Filled with agony
And ostentatiously sunny days
With scrapheaps of misery
It's the only place we have
And the only place that ever will be.
In wrongness, are we to remain as slaves
Till we go down in history?
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 6:29 AM UTC
I can sense the vanguard of your breath
colliding along the rarely prepared front lines
parading across the nape of my neck.
Hovering above the black moon tattoo I got
when my eyes were filled with factory smoke
from times a grandfather only knows
and my mind had been chaotically mute for centuries.
Lovers in the young West
stalked by dust bowl witnesses
and men who have their own idea
of the Law.
Scatter ourselves upon the prairies
dandelion perfume among the wind
and pray our mothers never know.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 1:57 PM UTC
The monumental image of this memory depicts
half of a man.
What makes this image monumental
is the unspoken truth
behind strong, naked feet
dancing and
kicking up dust
on top of a soap box.
Unshakeable emotions
warp this memory's
crowd of many
nameless faces,
pinching cheeks into malice
for a few,
long hours.
These malicious expressions may
be the result of the dust storm
filling in the blanks
for lots of people
collectively trying to ignore something.
Authorities have concluded that time
cannot heal a wound
if the hourglass has cracked,
so,
the memory goes on,
amassing
confusion, chaotically
like this television screen
showcasing half of a man
dancing
on top of a soapbox.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
Sometimes all the love you give
Is returned with a resounding deceit
Believing all the while, you are the cynosure
Yet, the centripetal force keeps you moving
Apparently, in sync with the lovers heart
When you realize, the asynchronous beats
But words are betraying the innermost deceit
Cracks appear, yet we turn a blind eye
Until it’s too late, when we stare at a wide chasm
All you want is to plunge into the darkness
Emotions run chaotically around the heart
Ripping away the veneer of love
Falsifying all beliefs, redeeming hurt
Eroding away the base of the relationship
It’s all there, in the saga of pseudo love
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
burning strangled fleece we bump chaotically
soft arrogance in morally languid pronation
leg burping fossas femoral twain (in which i'm
giddy a mustache of bristles coarse fuzz and grumbling
prickles hugely onyx( graciously bundled
to what about the huddled pulsing of EXPLODING GRIT!
in every flush molecule of bashful prim ) we girt
or flay the frightened silence scrambling gently on our scalding merriment.:',). . . . . . . . .
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 10:55 AM UTC
“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven..”― John Milton, Paradise Lost
____________________________________________________________________________________
Consider the mind
in whose deep caverns find
scatterings of memories
prismatically displaced.
Red recollections
that still incur wrath and venom,
arguments long forgotten.
Green recollections
emanate warmth that kindles
innocent times recalled.
Blue recollections
mauling at this bogus tranquillity,
scratching and tearing,
leaving oozing welts that fester
into melancholy.
Now hold this mirror shard
to these memories’ light:
watch the beams discordant
ricochet, obtuse, acute,
chaotically flaring into momentary awareness.
Consider the mind ...
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
I have absolutely the dirtiest
Most naughty thoughts
I've ever had
And they're all about you
I honestly think about your pleasure
Twenty four hours a day
Seven days a week
I die just thinking about the way we'd kiss
Slow and soft at first
Then they'd grow in passion
I imagine your tongue
The way it would easily slide into my mouth
Our lips chaotically battling each other
While my hands touch and caress your body
Neck kisses would make you weak
Just like the small moans you allow to escape your body
Are my weakness
They're lovely triggers
Forcing me to lower myself down your body
And stake claim over what used to be mine
I wouldn't just devour you
I'd worship you
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC