"confusedly" poems
It’s 6:15pm. Peter, Anna, Sophy and I are studying in the common room of our suite.
“We need to get serious,” Peter whispered, but there was no subject in the declaration, so I was left confused and uncommitted, “about getting serious,” he clarified.
“I’m not sure I can get serious about a guy who doesn’t separate whites and darks in the laundry,” I say, gently.
“No,” he said, shaking his head in brief vibration, “we need to get serious about DINNER.”
“Oh!” I said, maybe a little too relieved.
“Ha!” He chortled, “YOU overthink everything!” He said, nodding his head up and down to prove it was true. “And speaking of laundry,” he continued, seeing me start to open my mouth, “the other night YOU asked me if your pastel purple ******* should go with the whites or darks - so I must be an EXPERT!”
I laughed at the idea of his laundry expertise, sailing in from out of the purple like that, it was haywire. “Well,” I said, becoming introspective, “I didn’t know you’d hold onto that question like a grudge,” I said, in quiet, wounded accusation, “from now ON, maybe you should stay as far away from my ******* as possible.”
“What are you two grousing about NOW?” Anna asked, looking up from her computer. “You guys are like an old married couple.”
“True THAT.” Sophie said, like a judge right before knocking her gavel to finalize a ruling.
“We weren’t arguing!” I said, looking around confusedly. I looked at Peter, who was smiling broadly, “Were we?”
“Nope,” he said, wrapping his arm around me in a bearhug, “we were flirting.”
Sep 22, 2022
Sep 22, 2022 at 2:43 PM UTC
SHE is foremost of those that I would hear praised.
I have gone about the house, gone up and down
As a man does who has published a new book,
Or a young girl dressed out in her new gown,
And though I have turned the talk by hook or crook
Until her praise should be the uppermost theme,
A woman spoke of some new tale she had read,
A man confusedly in a half dream
As though some other name ran in his head.
She is foremost of those that I would hear praised.
I will talk no more of books or the long war
But walk by the dry thorn until I have found
Some beggar sheltering from the wind, and there
Manage the talk until her name come round.
If there be rags enough he will know her name
And be well pleased remembering it, for in the old days,
Though she had young men's praise and old men's blame,
Among the poor both old and young gave her praise.
3.6k
...Frankenstein...dear Frank--green with disparity, confusedly amongst parts that
were sum...O Frank--never a creature under no sun could sow dark's reaping so.
Yours is a terrible Art...meat thrown to a black and white world.
Towering clumsily...wobbling that meat before a black and white world...you're
already spoken for by the precedent of your freakdom.
Your wear is worse than the ******* child moon wearing the sun's clothing...
O Frank!
Your awkward beauty...is as winter's very struggle towards spring--only to die upon
your feet while thawing.
You were never cerebral enough to have a clandestine affair with nothingness in motion...
your body's your confession.
You were struck alive...not dead...ALIVE...ALIVE--thunderously so, called an: IT!
Runaway automata...the collective unconscious of humanity's hypnotized waddle--
O Frank...where is your Heaven...where is your Hell?
You can neither be showered by, nor Fall from grace.
The longest-drawn pity to never be taken...O...the duration of your life...YOUR LIFE!
..."ALIVE"..."ALIVE"...cried your euphoric namesake...God taken step of, to play God to thee--
as such...yours is a terrible Art.
One of living-death...O Frank!
Konstantinos Mark
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
My lips are tired even if nothing is being said yet.
It's always those 'sometimes' that's nailed to my head.
Please stop crying again.
Aren't you the one who will wipe away those tears?
Don't you get annoyed every time you are blamed?
I gained my freedom from you.
While there is still strength left, I want you to know.
Here I am swearing not to do it again,
Here I am ready to leave you,
Here I am and will live alone,
I'm here and are you still there?
Please forgive me for my train of thoughts,
It's always been illogical and selfish.
I know the past is over,
It's not worth doing anymore.
Don't you get bored every time you stare at yourself?
But now I will return again,
Just for a single moment to look at you again.
Here I am standing before you,
Here I am hoping and ready to be hurt.
I'm not going to hold back anymore.
I'm here because of you, I'm sorry, I'm a mess.
I hope you believe me.
Here I am singing confusedly.
Please understand me.
Mar 23, 2023
Mar 23, 2023 at 7:15 AM UTC
I seem to have slipped,
My mind has missed a beat,
For what happened today,
Was quite a simple feat.
The odd pairs of fandoms
Are not spoken of, at best
Alas, I love one of them,
But should have given it a rest.
The pair went into my grade,
A short story that I wrote.
It was all nice and dandy,
Until I almost had a stroke.
My teacher saw my ship,
And looked at my confusedly.
All I knew to do,
Was apologize profusely.
She didn't quite understand it,
But grade still turned out well.
Ah well, it's not horrible,
But class may now be hell.
If you ship an odd couple,
Do not let it show,
Because fandom and reality are quite different,
Trust me--I should know.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness:
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction:
An erring lace which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher:
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly:
A winning wave (deserving note)
In the tempestuous petticoat:
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility:
Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.
2.1k
...Frankenstein...dear Frank--green with disparity, confusedly
amongst the parts that were sum...O Frank--never a creature
under no sun could see so deeply into dark.
Yours is a terrible Art...meat thrown to the black and white world.
Towering clumsily...wobbling that meat before a black and white
world...you're already spoken for by the precedent of your freakdom.
Your wears are worse than the ******* child moon wearing the sun's
clothing...O Frank!
Your awkward beauty is as winter's very struggle towards spring--
only to die upon your feet while thawing.
You were never cerebral enough to have a clandestine affair with
nothingness in motion.
You were struck alive...not dead...ALIVE...ALIVE--called an: IT!
Spawn of science...the collective unconscious of humanity born to walk
its nightmare...O Frank...where is your heaven...where is your hell?
You can neither be showered by, nor Fall from grace.
The longest drawn pity to never be taken...O...the duration of your life...
YOUR LIFE!
...ALIVE...ALIVE...cried at you by the maddest of scientists...yours is a
terrible Art...one of living-death...O FRANK!
Konstantinos Mark
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
Written August 22, 2012
...and another days goes by.
She's not exactly sure how long it's been since the last time she was able to smile and say it came from the heart. She doesn't remember if it was November of last year or sometime in mid February, or just before April... she really wasn't sure. All she knew for sure was that it had been a while.
And the days go by...
Confusedly she carries on with unanswered questions about unanswered questions to months and months of dishonesty and distrust. Recently, she found out that a man she used to know has recently became a mother. She was surprised, but she also wasn't. At least now she knew where her beliefs on karma stood.
Some months before days have gone by, she has no idea where she will be once days have gone by. Maybe she would have some insight on where she would be after days of months have gone by but her perspective of the world is too askew. She should probably fix her tie before carrying on.
But eventually she might understand with some help from the polka-dot woman, but she doubts it. Her mind is too far gone for even those who consider themselves professional polka-dotters. She thinks maybe she could become a polka-dotter one day, but she doubts she can because her dots are way too out'ta line.
Of course she knows she has the animals but they can only help so much. She realizes that when it's clear they can only purr up against her leg so many times before they just can't purr any longer. At least they've helped thus far. With limitations she wants to break down but cannot.
A random thunder rumbles during the sunny summer day and snaps her into realizing it's time to gooooo.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
whoever said you can't find love on Tinder
has obviously never found a needle in a haystack.
There isn't anything to blame in such a deficit,
but when you're shuffling through the wires
of
hay-grass
seeking nothing in particular
only to ***** your finger to bleed
blood
red
love,
the fact you found it in the hay
should be no reason to discard its beauty.
In an internet casino of loveless *****
and gambled encounters,
where the rest of the hay is a pale green or pale gold in color,
I would have been blind had I missed the sheen
from the tips
of your bluebird feathers
as you perched just as curiously
and just as confusedly as I did.
We wrung the slot machine's lever
one
more
time
and found one another
gazing into our eyes
like we'd known each other
for longer
than a millennium
could ever claim
to measure.
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC
Steadily, she approaches me, hands bound behind her back, observing and forming judgements, discerning our essence, or lack. Does she know? Wait! What would she know? I've nothing to hide, nothing to show! Could it be she's a clairvoyant? In their daunting, cryptic ways? Is she a mystic a gypsy? Does she know of all our days? Can she read between--beyond the surface? Seeking through obscurity? Can she tell who are the martyrs? The traitors and betrayed? Does she know of all the secrets in the diamond dusk of age? Or can she read through the stories of the world, page by page? Alas, as she stands there, confusedly staring into my face's voids, I cannot help but wonder, who has sanity, and who's devoid...
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
When I thy singing next shall hear,
I’ll wish I might turn all to ear,
To drink in notes and numbers such
As blessed souls can’t hear too much;
Then melted down, there let me lie
Entranc’d and lost confusedly,
And by thy music stricken mute,
Die and be turn’d into a lute.
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The muscled, runner’s legs
Extending from under clothes I
Hardly remember buying and
When did I place those
Ink spots upon my skin
When did I grow my hair
Till it stretched past these
Shoulders I used to hate
And can I be sure that
My soul resides within
This image, in her bold
Sunglasses and lipsticks and
With more makeup upon
Her face then I ever
Remember learning
All her jewels and flowers
Are confusing and so
New to me even though
Supposedly inside her frame
My essence is churning
I look and wonder when
I became such an enigma,
I am some people’s idea of
Beauty, and other’s may
Find me stereotypical
What is this body shown
Through a camera lens, is it
Really mine as they profess
And now as I analyse
I feel so miserable
I am unrecognisable to my
Own eyes, the mirror is
Baffling to these irises that
Search for familiarity
And I long to feel at home
Inside this corpse I reside
Supposedly, or maybe just
Confusedly, I move its limbs
I manipulate it and try
To reconcile my visual show
Yet in a photograph I do
Struggle to pick out myself
Whatever I expect, these eyes
So empty are not it and neither
Is this uncertain smile
This breaking hair and the way
I pose to pretend I’m
Absolutely fine, thankyou,
I don’t expect it and really
I just don’t know why.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
His sparkling eyes,
His golden hair,
His lips sharing their sweetness with mine..
I closed my eyes to feel them........
But,
I had to do it, now!
I unwrapped the shiny silver knife,
The size of my palm from the foldings in my wavy gown,
Had my throat cut while leaving a scar on his face, his blood on my lips...
I fell with teary eyes, looking into his until my last breath....
He was weeping confusedly...
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 9:12 AM UTC
Quietly, quickly, inconspicuously, daringly, cautiously, knowingly, doubtingly, forcefully, confusedly, consciously, uncontrollably, thoughtfully, dumbly, numerously, abusively, blatantly, spontaneously, thinking of the blank, black, silence that engulfs my being every nocturnal moment I remain frozen in the banks of reality waiting for the hypothetical trigger of the hypothetical gun to be ripped behind its epicenter to allow me the will to be woken from a death that had been disrupted by a millimeter of flame from a centimeter of a stars everlasting life within a never lasting cycle of momentary aliveness in a stillness that ceases to be as such.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
It is strange to move unburdened.
Feet so light that
with each step they shoot high up to the sky,
Threatening to kick the teeth out,
or rip my thighs' tendons,
Restraint so foreign to them.
Quite curious my hands feel
released from the duty of holding me together.
Consumed by bittersweet emptiness
As they confusedly try to grasp
something, anything to hold onto or
at least the meaning of what "freedom" actually is.
So please be patient
as I stumble around in this awkward body.
You see, the me this free wasn't here for growing up
So I'm just beginning learning how to
align feeling with being
All Right
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 4:39 AM UTC
Pressed against
And blackened since,
Eyes meet lips meet love.
But when used so loosely,
She sends, "Choose me"
Happy?
Don't look up...
Caressed again,
And lacking since,
Eyes met lips made love,
But when used so confusedly
He don't choose, but
Happily asks,
"Did we just make love?"
Walking behind that boy,
Was me-not bad,
One beautiful then sad
One more fierce than sad...
If pain is a factor
And loss is a gain.
If pain is a factor
And loss is a gain.
She's dressed again
And packing since,
Eyes made lips made love,
But when used so lucidly,
She don't choose him.
Happily, she says,
"You know, this ain't love!"
Walking behind that girl,
Was me-not bad,
One more beautiful, then sad
One more fierce than sad.
If pain is a factor,
And loss is a gain.
If pain is a factor,
And loss is a gain...
If pain is a factor,
And loss is a gain...
Then love as a constant,
Is exactly the same.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret,Kenya;[email protected])
Yes, you are only asking the answer
I have seen the Chinese, not only one
But I have seen very men of them,
They are all over in African villages
Working in the hinterland of Africa,
All of them I haven are short
Non of them is old nor tall
All of them are short and middle aged,
Their women are not sexually attractive,
They all have small eyes, they walk confusedly,
I have seen very many today in the most remote hamlets
Doing everything for Africans, as if Africans are kings,
Some are digging latrine holes, some are digging graves
Some are building village wells, some are country bridges
Some are selling roasted maize, some are selling pepper
Some are hunting rats, some are trapping snakes,
I have seen one in the toilet downloading loudly
Another one in the lodging uploading silently,
The Chinese I have seen are doing everything for us,
Does it mean now Africans are a race of kings.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 6:19 AM UTC
"So you're.....what?"
You looked at me confusedly and
I tried my best not to be worried about
what you might think.
This is who I am,
And I can't keep lying about it.
"I'm Pansexual, yeah."
You took a deep breath,
and then you smiled at me as you grabbed ahold of my hands.
"Tell me more," you said.
And that's how I knew I had made an amazing choice.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
She looked at me
Confusedly
Pulled her hand back up
Asked me why
I shrugged and apologized
I don't think anyone's
Ever told her no
To getting into their pants
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
i can fool anyone...
but not you.
your love stands
alone...for a smattering
of hate.
confusedly so, unto them
you gem.
glass houses rework stones
to perfection.
reflections shatter inordinately
to the mind.
you're so meticulous.
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
Something
Has fallen off the wall
There are
Echoes in the hall
Nonsense
Reaching from the window
And all the words
Are hollow
Lights in
A corner of evening
Come in
It's nothing like it seems
In a lunatic night
Barely out of sight
Something
Happened again
Somewhere
But that's besides the plot
Some thoughts
And noise within earshot
No way
We mean when we
Give in our dreams
The picture stays the same
Can see your faces
Not your souls
Leftover traces
Empty wholes
Couldn't see coming
Every day
Confusedly moving
To stay
Nov 10, 2022
Nov 10, 2022 at 10:27 AM UTC