"clumping" poems
Slippery tentacles swirl,
overlapping each other
in eagerness,
engulfing,
embracing,
the others.
To be mindless
clay thoughts
clumping, and
separating
with the tide.
Slimy, as seaweed
but smoother, and yet
bumpier
as well.
Slipping, sliding,
simple thoughts of
embrace,
simple arms of the
octopus.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
"O WORDS ARE POOR RECEIPTS FOR
WHAT TIME HATH STOLE AWAY"
The summer sky
tried me on to see
if it fit
or I fitted it.
It was not used to being
a 7 year old boy.
I quite liked the exchange
to have clouds for eyes
birds flying
though all my thoughts
wearing a rainbow
in my hair.
To have a heart
that shone like the sun.
The summer of '63
ran about my bedroom
looked out windows
ran down stairs
three at a time
kicked a ball against a wall
swopped comics
marbles and conkers
recited "I remember, I remember"
to itself
until it could
remember it.
Absolutely loved me Da
being its Da
the kisses of my Ma
the laughter of a brother.
Oh what a thing it was
being human.
I, in due course
was an about-to-be
thunderstorm
clumping about the evening
like hobnail boots
on marble tiles.
Thunder and lightning
the whole works.
I could have gone on
for a forever
chasing horizons
making up the days to come.
But the summer sky
had taken all it could
take of being
a little boy.
So many thoughts
running about a head
that was only just
about 7
so that it fell asleep
and when it awoke
it was no longer me
but itself
the summer of '63.
I too had released
the sky back to the how
it should
and has to be.
My thoughts scattered like birds
by a chance church bell
telling time
its Angelus
or a knell
to end it all.
I still remember all of it
as if
it had really really
happened.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 6:09 AM UTC
Who was there had seen us
Wouldn't bid him run?
Heavy lay between us
All our sires had done.
There he was, a-springing
Of a pious race,
Setting hags a-swinging
In a market-place;
Sowing turnips over
Where the poppies lay;
Looking past the clover,
Adding up the hay;
Shouting through the Spring song,
Clumping down the sod;
Toadying, in sing-song,
To a crabbed god.
There I was, that came of
Folk of mud and name--
I that had my name of
Them without a name.
Up and down a mountain
Streeled my silly stock;
Passing by a fountain,
Wringing at a rock;
Devil-gotten sinners,
Throwing back their heads,
Fiddling for their dinners,
Kissing for their beds.
Not a one had seen us
Wouldn't help him flee.
Angry ran between us
Blood of him and me.
How shall I be mating
Who have looked above--
Living for a hating,
Dying of a love?
2.7k
Three day old
Store-bought mac and cheese,
That has been reheated
Twice
But the cheese and macaroni
Have started to separate,
The cheese clumping together,
And despite the scortching corners
Of the dinner,
In it's store container,
There are large sections
That are as cold as the fridge.
It's like you warmed it back up
Using nothing but your
Low powered hair drier.
It tastes like poverty feels.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
Cascading pixels,
trickling over the arcade,
Eight bit drops-
Tiny blocks,
clumping together rise-
Digital monoliths.
Soaring up:
***** structures emerge;
Falling down:
begins to breakdown;
as the lines dissolve underneath
multiplying scores manifold!
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
Sailboats glide through waters calm
albatrosses dive head first intro cascading waves
yellow fins scatter and glue together again.
Green leaves wrap and brown vines slither clumping into a floating mass
orbiting globes ride along the surface
oblong noses push the orbs closer and closer
delve deeper in and see their glow
blending colors straighten out and wavering lines grow stark in contrast
yearning arms reach into and pull self into...inside
exit signs alight red and darkness fades to bright.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
I plucked a splinter from my heart
As the past began to leak-
Before clumping up against the sore
And trickling down my feet.
I exhaled the bitter, salty air,
And coughed and heaved my loss
For my lungs could only hold their share
As long as I paid the cost.
I cornered you with words, tonight,
And wailed out against the moon-
While anger poured from every noun
Falling dormant upon my tomb.
You thought I mixed it up, somehow,
Between the trembling blame,
As you coiled up upon the sound
That harshly sang your name.
I burried up my bitter soul
Beneath some shards of glass,
And planted a new world right there,
Atop a hidden past.
I crossed my t's, and said my alms
To your sweet and sickly lord.
I held my voice from trembling,
So my distress would not be heard.
I washed my wounds with holiness
Drained from the city streets,
Cleansing myself of all that feels,
For acceptance comes as defeat.
I sat there in the dark, that night,
As I painted out my life
Upon the shores of an indifferent sea,
Unscarred by wisdom's knife.
Oh, do you see the butterfly
That's shriveled against the pane
Of a dusty, concealed windowsill-
Never to see light again.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC
Bottled
Boxed
Shrink wrapped
Flash frozen
Angst
And grunge.
Spray on depth
And emotions,
Advertised
To children.
Individually packaged
Insomnia,
Because something
Needs to be wrong with you
For people to care.
In our pre ripped,
Pre faded jeans,
Music
About drugs
And drink,
Sung
By children
Who've never come close
To either,
At the top of their lungs
Into the night.
Because pain is deep,
Pain is real.
We're dumping paint cans
Full of black paint
Over our heads,
Clumping our hair together,
Covering our sunshine
Yellow bodies.
Just to demonstrate
Some contrast
Against the summer
Blue sky,
So we get to be
A little different.
Sabotage
Sabotage
Sabotage
Sabotage
Marketed,
Advertised,
Sabotage.
Do you feel it in the air?
Family value sized
Self destruction?
And pointing it out
Is pointless,
Because my fake nose piercing,
And brand new
First tattoo
Sting still,
You could say I'm the worst.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 5:18 PM UTC
You gotta remember
that we're just
upright primates
full of fear,
pounding chest,
full of joy,
vicious in survival.
Small band of the Hand
clumping together,
increasingly clustering,
like fractal adolescence.
Fighting and *******
Cuban Missile Crisis,
and Free Love Sixties.
Proof that solutions
for small Hand & Bobono
don't fit sullen temperament
of precious preteen.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
Everything that used to be
Is now all that has been abandoned
Hollow-shelled and left for vultures
Not even bugs dare to touch the dust ridden and forgotten
A marvelous twisted combination of steel
In all its glory laid to rest
Paint chipped in all the wrong places
Blanketed in dust it rides no more
The blanket rises above all
Everything chipped broken and worn to slithers
All around flecks of red or yellow peak out
But what is all around you is a cold insensitive grey
You feel the unloved and unwanted mask to your skin
You hear the children crying, laughing and shouting
You taste the grey clogging you airways with the reminiscent of cotton candy
You see the pain that the beautiful beast has gone through
Fresh salted water now stains in areas where the dust is
Clumping it together like a pitiful pile of unwanted mud
You now see and realize.
You are The Circus
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 1:21 AM UTC
As you descend from the clouds
Of Seventh Heaven,
As the Land of Escapism bids farewell,
As the portal closes
And the mythical joyfulness
Morphs
Into reality,
As memories begin to fade in,
Clumping its weight around your heartbeat,
You gasp in vain for a release
And wonder
How can something
so empty…
feel
so heavy?
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
I sat this evening
there beneath the swallowing trees
adjacent to the immortal stumps.
I sat
and thought.
Nothing new. Don't die.
Relax. Persevere *********
And I happened to believe myself.
"He's wise sometimes," I said.
The passers passed me by,
averting their curious little beady eyes,
purposefully blindsiding the phantasmic figure
curled up pensively. They rush by.
I eat the dusking sky
and the squirrels and placid spiders
night down within the knowing trees.
Peaceingly, the twilight dawns anew.
Unsteady, I stride toward clumping moths with
wishful confidence. Meaning only words,
the gentle enfolding blacks behind
and the lighted moths bat my lashes
as I reach incandescent optimism.
"Well, we'll see," says he.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:44 PM UTC
When he’s standing in your doorway
Clean-shaven, distanced,
Recognize that once he was
Scouring the cracks in the blacktop,
Picking pansies with the weeds
And clumping them together to declare
The love letters he had written along the sidewalks,
Blue chalk sprawling beside her walk home.
And one day he was standing before her desk,
A medley of a bouquet lodged under his fingernails,
That he took to be the most beautiful piece of art.
Lips slightly chapped, chest rising quickly,
In a moment of unadulterated courage he ****** his arms forward
To present the best offering he could.
And all she saw was the dirt.
Oct 8, 2020
Oct 8, 2020 at 9:47 PM UTC
She was birthed
Roaring into the world
From the smoldering
Clouds and debris
Of a solar supernova.
The Solar System
Wailed with the effort
Of her labor,
Crying and moaning
Fumes
Of toxic ashes
As her surfaces
Slowly coagulated.
At first
The molten lava plains
Of her magma
Sizzled
And shifted,
Bubbled
And stewed.
Spinning,
Turning already
On her axis,
Her cooling crust began to
Take shape,
At first
Sticking
Randomly
Together
But
Later
Clumping
Like
The fusing skull
Of a budding
Fetus.
And her bright
Pink
Flesh cooled,
Shone
No more,
Replaced
By black scabs
Of brutal scarring.
Storms
Of acidic poison
Raged in her skies,
Gaseous clouds broiling up
From openings
On her scorched
And pockmarked
Body.
Oceans flowed
And they washed
Over her skin,
Cleansing her,
Elevating her to salvation.
Waves crashed
Like powerful titans
Capable of bringing
Our little world to its knees.
They rescued
Her warped form.
Groaning she rose up
Gloriously
With the act
Of greeting
The Sun.
The new and white
Star gazed lovingly
Over her child’s horizon,
And the infant,
Wiped freshly clean
Of her burning mother’s
Cosmic afterbirth,
Opened her baby blue eye
And smiled back.
--Jack Singer
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 10:34 AM UTC
As a child time creeps forth
Too slow
Now we gallop faster and faster-
I could feel tomorrow slipping into me
Before today would be done.
(Close my eyes and I was there; the empty places are collapsing
when nothing held them up)
Years are piled at my door
Endings tapping at the back of my shoulder
As futures finish before they will be born.
Bring back the line, time
Or send it forward;
I don’t like this jumbled mess,
This shifting mass of yesterday and tomorrow
And pointless todays clumping about me in one
Seething muddle.
A little geometric order would be nice.
Jun 10, 2011
Jun 10, 2011 at 6:58 AM UTC
There is something about this miraculous sea,
Dexterously painting the sky with different shades,
Entwining the clouds and sun simultaneously,
Clumping the small granules together to form a grandiose castle,
Singing lullabies with its shimmering waves,
A divine abode.
A utopian paradise.
-Khushi :)
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:04 AM UTC
What is your poetry, my friend?
Is it the cool spring day that bounces
off your clothes after a long winter mourning;
the spine-chilling defrosting session
you have when the sun finally rises
and the forward look to the light of a new day.
Or is it the morning silence of a library,
hot teas, and warm crumpets, that carries
your imagination far far away
after forgetting the chaos of yesterday.
Your poetry is your happy place,
your depressed face, your angry taste,
and an exhausted out space...
Your race to the moon and back
before mother tucks you in
and turns off the lights.
It's the bad blues news
and the good old days' anthem
that hums on long to the Sunday tunes
without a care in the world.
What is our poetry, my friend?
Is it a couple of pals laying waste
to the grass below our restless bodies
as we gaze up into the galaxy
and pronounce what is your and mine;
the grass clumping together in our hands
and spilling all over each other's hair.
Or is it the strum of your guitar
and the beat of my hands clashing
against each other to make a sweat
Yet miserable lullaby for our hearts
to pour our into the beach we set camp at.
The waves matching our irregular beat
with its own casual style
that loves to ride up onto our toes mid-chorus.
Our Poetry is what we make of it.
love letters dabbled back and forth
across the classroom get caught
just to share the love we have
with everybody else who doesn't have.
The glittering looks we give
when everyone bursts out laughing
because we know they know
they will never come close to us;
not even second place.
The tear drop memories of what was
and what coulda woulda shoulda been
but now isn't there for us to even cry on;
just cold shoulders and salty whispers
about the past, that should never have been
because it makes up too much pain for the present.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 4:03 PM UTC
Flailing arms in minestrone soup,
grasping ropes in gloopy slop.
Slippery snakes in slippy hands;
bobbing bereft in beefy broth.
Croutons swirl - a death knell eddy
clumping in a bread bricked tomb.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 12:42 AM UTC
‘How quaint,’ remarked Mistress Hora as she turned the afternoon on its head, ‘that you would consider time to be a linear construct.’
‘Positively post-historic,’ agreed Master O’Clock, nodding his head in perfect synchrony with the orchestra that played inside his ear. Today was Waltzday (or so he had named it), an interminable reminder that atomic metronomes particularly those of Viennese manufacture were not to be trifled with.
‘Be assured, my dears, that this fancy is a passing one and exists only as a fleeting extemporaneous distraction,’ our Mistress continued. The first year students breathed a collective sigh of relief. ‘Now, I want no clumping, no running ahead, and NO helical improvisation. When yesterday’s fish and chips come wrapped in tomorrow’s newspaper it gives our school a most unfortunate reputation.’ The class chortled as one. ‘Most importantly, please remember to take your pocket guide.’
I reached for my bedraggled copy of _The Theory of Chronometrical Fluidity: Compressed Edition_ and wrung the pages out. I had failed badly at applied clepsydrics and my cousin Widget wasn’t letting me forget it. From behind the glass, I spotted her playing a furtive game of Gregorian and by the look on her face February was winning. I blew her a lemniscate to grab her attention. She scowled, looked up from her losing streak and giggled when she saw me spiralling in her direction. ‘Good luck,’ she spiralled back.
Miss Hora flexed her wrist and glanced at her temporal transponder. ‘You will be marked on cuneiformity, consistency, and rate of continuance. Now be off with you. Tempus fugit!’ With a flick of her bejangled fingers she opened the S.A.N.D. grates. I held my breath and jumped.
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 5:03 PM UTC
troubles all around
clumping about
never leaving
people suffering
from their troubles
but time will give them freedom
distance
clarity
troubles all around
terrorizing
the not so innocent people
suffering
from their mistakes
but time will let them go
let them learn
and be free
troubles all around
for everyone
we all get by
with the time given to us
to enjoy the freedom
the relinquishment
of troubles
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 9:58 PM UTC
giving up on this life, eating less food i'm going on strike. i hold the knife, i want to take my life. the cuts on my wrists don't hurt no more, but they start to when my mom opens the door. i **** in my stomach so that nobody sees, leave me alone, please. my heart has stopped pumping, stopped thumping, blood is clumping and i can't do this anymore. losing hope, i don't want to cope, wash my mouth with soap because i told you way too much. my teeth are rotting, my vision is spotting, no bunny is hopping and the world just isn't the same anymore. i don't trust you after you pushed me to the floor. but every single time, i come begging, begging for more, knocking on your door, asking your mom if you can play. i'm no longer welcome with my friends, i can't seem to follow the trends. i'm giving up, tbh.
Dec 12, 2024
Dec 12, 2024 at 5:00 PM UTC
A warm tingling,
crawling up your spine,
yelling in your ears, your heart,
your mind,
and it keeps calling;
every part of your body,
a tense, hot, sizzling touch,
of your skin, yearning,
burning, soft lips leaning so close,
fingers curling, twitching,
sighing, and incessant noise ringing,
screaming, as you gaze into their eyes;
a coarse heat clumping in your throat,
keeping you entranced, captured,
wanting them now; forever.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
Breaking down armor, bulldozing down walls accidentally,
Of course it’s only right it happened at 3am in my car, rain down pouring, unsuspecting.
The most vulnerable and raw glimpse of who you really are,
A taste of your core; crying, crumbling, chest ripped wide open for me to see
Your fiercely pounding heart; your blue-green eyes somehow more vibrant
Against red, puffy skin; dark eyelashes clumping haphazardly, clinging against
The storm raging inside of your soul, echoed by thunder on the highway; the quivering of your voice, your trembling hands, you surrender,
displaying emotion so deep, more powerful than any song
I’ve ever heard; a moment that took my breath away
Like nothing has before.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 2:57 AM UTC