"counterclockwise" poems
Somehow, life drifted me away from the ones who knew.
Somehow, bliss remained when all I knew echoed away.
life seems to always miss my direction.
While time ticks clockwise towards the end... I counterclockwise - towards the beginning.
I never really followed lifes rules.
Or maybe those rules never really followed me.
I leave when I love the most.
I miss when they hate the most.
I give when I lack.
And I lack when I flourish.
I miss who I am when lost.
I forget who I am when found.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 12:07 AM UTC
The clock struck midnight
With an informative pang
I couldn't face it's music
So I turned counterclockwise
But time kept moving forward
As my wisdom dissipated
Bad times I anticipated
As I wandered through life
Burdens grew
Weight added with each step
My feet started to sink into the ground
So I got in my car
And drove
And kept driving
The more I traveled
The more I witnessed
The less I talked
As I grappled with the futility and necessity of communication
The clock warned of night's approach
I decided to continue driving
Luminous fireflies pelted my vessel
Their lamps exploding upon impact against my vehicle
The ability to destroy light
Exhilarated me
And I became addicted
To extinguishing that which shines
Until darkness flooded my engine
And an abysmal order was made by my abyssal odor
I had to exit my vehicle
And consult a mechanic
He explained my engine wouldn't work
Unless my windows were down
Which solved my darkness problem
But those ****** pests pervaded my car
Their locust glow disoriented me
The slight variations of their unique displays
Manufactured chaos within the light
My eyes grew accustomed to entropy
My brain grew accustomed to impairment
Commuters noticed my erratic driving
And offered to assist me
By attempting to ram me off the road
But the impenetrable light created a force field
Impalas couldn't run through
For my light bugs too much
Buffering me from others
And driving others from me
Leaving me alone
As a giant pulsating light that never stops moving
Is this how a star is born?
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
the nightmares keep
me up at night
almost every night
in March
i get to relive
the trauma
over and over
that month
i awake feeling
my chest tight
stomach turning
counterclockwise
my mind focused
on that first night
why it all happened
what did i do wrong
i was just a child
i remind myself
as i *****
i hope one day
i like March again
like i did
when i was 6 years old
Apr 9, 2024
Apr 9, 2024 at 10:14 PM UTC
Is it my counter-counterclockwise
mind wasting time? Elbows
on the dining table pulling my angel
hair into grid-like times tables.
I’m invested in this non-conversation
table. Ich liebe dich, mein Freund.
I’ve got commitment issues and four-ply
tissues for when my eye lashes start
peeling apart. My grandpa died in 2005
and I’m all but over it. I’m holding
his kite string, but the reel is almost done,
like VHS tapes rewound then fast-forwarded
to the good times. Power Ranger birthday
and everyone’s wearing dunce caps
with elastic chin straps ‘til they snap.
Snap! Snap! Snap me back to three-years-old,
and I’m singing in a Robin costume
‘cause I knew I’d always be second best.
I had an identity crisis around fourteen,
so I stopped buying sunglasses
because I found myself in other
peoples’ shadows. But now the only shadows
they’re casting are the ones from their headstones
and from the fields of flowers cradling
them like they once cradled me.
Fast-forward, I’m genuflecting in gym shorts
before myself in a mirror smudged with plum
felt. And I seem small compared to my life
spelled out in Expo marker markings.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
She checks her wristwatch
Counterclockwise
Against her former expectations
Of the metal
Around her wrist
She checks her digital clock
The one on the stove
That flashes
Flash, flash, flash, flash
Like a silent metronome
When the power goes out
And comes back on
12:31
12:30
12:29
Calm
She is still calm
Breathing
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale
Steady
Like the bobbing of a buoy, bouncing
Brazenly in open sea
You see
She sees
That time can be trickery
That conceptual thoughts
Provoke mystery
Illusions and delusions
Conclusions and intrusions
Seclusion
She has many things
About which
To think
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
The hole in my chest spins with the phosphorescent white lights of my eyeballs
They go out in an instant
Reverse, counterclockwise
This house is toxic and I can't seem to shake the feeling that this black-hole feels more like home than anything I've known.
It isn't because I know you best
It's because I know you worst
And if I had learned that and never repeated the lesson,
Then my candles wouldn't be nearly gone
And my lipstick wouldn't be stained onto my lips
And I would have been asleep hours ago.
See, I have a problem with saying no.
A vortex approaches me and I'm excited, not afraid
I invite it in to my rib cage just to feel it knot all of my torso into a ball
Tensing it and tensing it until I release
Into the blade and into the lack of my senses
Tingling and wet incisions that taste like bitter mangoes and the bad nights in summer
Hot nights,
Sticky nights.
When you can't close your eyes and you can't feel your legs but the hair on your forehead could be glued on
The last time I was sent away, I had cat scratches on my hands
They're back again
My knuckles were the prettiest shades of red, black, and blue.
These appear in my head
Which might be a step toward heaven
Or what everyone tells me normality feels like.
Ignorance, bliss, and most important,
The avoidance of disappointment all together.
That's what I'm filled with.
Pens with missing parts, smudged nail polish, burning your hair, not having a family to have Thanksgiving with, knowing dad wants to die, waking up from a nightmare, being ****** into adulthood, having no money, being stood up at 3am by your ex
Darkness
The light has to be in there somewhere
Or else I don't know what I'll do.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 12:20 AM UTC
I grab the wooden chair
and pulled it
through rooms
and up the stairs
I kicked the door open
A cold wind blew
the sketches of you
rose to the air
and settled down together
beside my lonely bed
And so I pulled
the chair, and brought it
to the wall
I hesitated for a moment
and heaved out a sigh
I brought up a foot
and forced myself up
until my nose
almost brushed the wall clock
My warm breath
made the clock's glass clouded
Two hands grasped the clock
Two feet managed to stay firm
as I stood on the chair
and dismounted the wall clock
Finally, I sat down
on the chair
on the old wooden chair
and my fingers
found its way
at the clock's back
I twisted, and twisted
and twisted
I closed my eyes
and opened them
to see the clock's hands
revolving counterclockwise
for a second i just stared
and stared
and stared
then closed my eyes
and opened them again
to stare..
My fingers suddenly became tired
and the clock's hands seemed to stop
Tears
fell on its glass
they rolled
and found their way
towards
number 6
the day you left me
the day it ended
the day you died.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
Brewing.
Steeping.
The leaves of the crunchy,
Dry,
Oolong tea.
He wanted the girl to love it.
As much as he did.
The chocolatey aroma.
Taste.
Smell.
All to be enjoyed by the girl.
He was excited for her to savor it.
Auburn orange.
Amber yellow.
How these colors swirl within the tea cup.
Dipping a spoon in to twirl it.
Left.
Right.
Counterclockwise.
At last, the tea was ready.
Cool.
Not too hot.
Not too cold.
Just right, like porridge.
Ready to be tasted by the girl.
He presented it to her.
She took the tea cup.
In her delicate hands.
Tipped it to her chapped lips.
The warm liquid
Glided.
Smoothly.
In her mouth.
Down her throat.
Her tongue, wanting more.
She smiled at the boy.
Before continuing to
Ravish her tea.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 10:22 AM UTC
Mistakes rest on my collarbones
William Burroughs knocks on my chest and listens to the echoes
Catch my breath and weigh the possibilities
Navigating the side streets
we drink tequila from a tea *** while the bowl moves counterclockwise
Tuck my friendships back into pockets and carry them like loose change.
Take a penny, leave a penny
Just don't leave me lonely.
I lay in your front yard with my mouth wide open
I capture the songs of the day so we can share them in the moon light
You simply go through the motions
your mind full of figures,
while I think about thinking
of thinking
of thinking
a thought.
I fumble through life, my shoe laces tied together
You laugh into our kiss and call me useless
So please,
use less of me.
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 12:58 AM UTC
uncertainty has gotten the best of us both
we sit in silence speaking a million words
Shadows dance across the floor
as our tongues fumble over the thoughts
were too afraid to speak
don't irrationalize the rational darling
when heart beats tick in reverse
we stumble over endings
while dreaming only to transverse
Follow me down the darkest hallway
we'll come out where the light has crossed
Only time can bring us answers now
as we flee from apparent insanity
and lie shameful in hope of something more
but we can't irrationalize the rational darling
when heart beats tick in reverse
we stumble over endings
while dreaming only to transverse
This counterclockwise love affair
has worn us far too thin
so turn the hand and speak out
because I'm ready to begin
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
My best friend Steve
had a rat named Beulah
and although she wore the white pelt
and pert whiskers of a domestic pet
she never generated the heroics
of Disney’s menagerie;
rather, she’d
unwind her days doing a scurrying
hunch'n'hop
around the perimeter of the living room.
As a native Pittsburgh rat
Beulah escaped the bizarre fate
of her Baltimore cousins
who resided in neighborhoods
where the residents fished for rodents
using Kmart rods and big steel hooks
baited with cheese and rancid bacon.
Instead, she died rather mundanely
like many rats
at the end of her life's only adventure
fleeing the tame existence
of the living room
for the fresh air of the driveway
where the rear wheels
of Steve's dad's pickup truck
flattened and whirled
poor Beulah
in a counterclockwise
spinfest
of radial belted
frenzy
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 7:40 PM UTC
Like leaves, tears drop and float effortlessly down scarred cheeks.
To the world, they remain anonymous and silent but to me, they are the world.
Becoming glass shards in broken eyes, and elvin daggers in a limp heart.
A body spinning counterclockwise, going no where but sicker as the days flash by.
I am a number, a false statistic that hasn't registered yet.
I am made up and imaginary, just like hands are to time, just like green is to money.
I grow tired of this worlds mentality more and more with each shallow breath.
I remain on the outskirts of everything as I stay unconformed and partially used.
There is an ever present dust seeping into my wounds and it's eating away all I am, all I stand for and my bones.
They have turned to dust, my soul has given way to rust.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 8:42 AM UTC
asphyxiating by the hour
falling in reverse
drowning in the waves
ticking clocks , counterclockwise
freezing by the second
waiting for your precious touch
before i fall into hands
of darkness unknown
( b.d.s.)
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 9:56 AM UTC
Your beauty is contagious
and I’m allergic to it.
Your presence makes my eyes water
and heart race faster.
Almost as fast as
the wind racing
in the eye of a hurricane.
My throat swells up
to a point where
I can barely speak.
My head starts spinning
clockwise and counterclockwise.
Simultaneously.
I’m barely aware
of my surroundings.
The sound of your voice
splits the tiny hairs
of my earlobe.
Accented with a sexiness
I could listen to
all day long,
intently and uninterrupted.
Even after I wipe the water
from the bottom lids
of my eyes
I still find your beauty
difficult to look at for too long.
Like it can only be taken
in small dosages,
otherwise the effect is too strong.
Allergies are unpleasant
to deal with,
but the reaction I draw
from your contagion
is worth the side effects.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 10:37 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
Brewing.
Steeping.
The leaves of the crunchy,
Dry,
Oolong tea.
The chocolatey aroma…
So intoxicating
Like a psychedelic dream.
Auburn orange.
Amber yellow.
How these colors swirl within the tea cup.
Dipping a spoon in to twirl it.
Left.
Right.
Counterclockwise.
At last, the tea was ready.
Cool.
Not too hot.
Not too cold.
Just right, like porridge.
The girl was ready
To savor the
Lovely drink.
She took the tea cup.
In her delicate hands.
Tipped it to her chapped lips.
The warm liquid
Glided.
Smoothly.
In her mouth.
Down her throat.
Her tongue wanting more.
She smiled,
Before continuing to
Finish
Her ravishing tea.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
The forgotten bedrock gleams...surrendering
crowns deep in majesty.
As breath comes and goes freely...what of
your fashioned cage?
Your multiplying extremities by mind's might
to touch the untouchable...allows religiosity of
fragmentation.
******* recalls of salvation...coasting still lifes
who blackened an etheric sea.
Seven Days in, and Seven Days out...clockwise/
counterclockwise, a Black and White Hole.
God of thy God in doses...whose meager One
be death at Once.
In the subtlety of trillionth aspect a clearing
may resolve as it were...what's point blank stands
as you Are.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
*Late night
so blind
The whole world wouldn't notice you
around its darkest night
thousands of people
you encountered.
Half awake and bold
for nothingness.
Set the time to its counterclockwise
Hoping to get back
the memories
you've once remembered.
Maybe it'll get better
Maybe it'll change
but still won't do.
Till you wake up
one day
Till someone would
tap your shoulder
& reality hits you so hard.*
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
~for mark john junior~
the spigot turns counterclockwise,
oft I wondered why,
is it the magic way to make
things rise...
'pon occasion, the water shuts off,
turn left to right or vice versa,
no juice no bath and life starts
to stink, especially under armpits
and you think
how many love poems does one soul
in his lifetime possess,
and can I do better than my last...
if at all
sometimes you stare at a blankenship
ocean adrift, pirate hijacking victim,
no grub, no paddle or map,
but an empty water bottle
baffled you ask it
to point north,
laughs at you, asking,
"am I a compass,
or you,
a complete ***
a seismic groan out loud,
registers on
Florida's hurricane wind watch
how come this to be
meteoric loss of metaphor bridging,
search the Internet for the ******
of poetic inspiration, and an
error message delivered:
"plagiarize, or better luck next time sucker"
patience, football, thy women,
will in time realize the artful truth realized:
"Creativity is allowing oneself to make mistakes; art is knowing which ones to keep"
Scott Adams (creator of Dilbert)
so
go forth,
make mistakes plenty,
keep some good,
the pink ones fyi, my fav,
look that quill in the face,
and give the lazy ******* some lip,
reminding it,
it gets paid and ink drinks,
by the word
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
I wanted to write a poem about
something seemingly simple like love,
but then I remembered all those times I
lost myself on the winding stairs of your eyes;
how I would so eagerly climb the steps of your retinas and
get lost in the hues and you didn’t feel anything as
I shattered every glass landing but
sometimes I feel the phantom drip of
blood on my feet when I trip over
my own tongue.
I remember my heart felt
like it was ticking counterclockwise
and how my stomach was shredding itself,
taking the ribboned pieces and
hanging them from my ribcage
so that they fluttered when my lungs
expanded on that last exhale.
I’d like to think that the click and bob
Of your throat was remorse.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
I never thought my hands would look nice held in ones of polish, chipped and black
In fact, it goes against my own advice, but once I’ve crossed, I can’t go back.
I never thought I’d want dark and twisty like the licorice in your pocket
Because Nicholas Sparks makes my eyes misty, and your eyes roll hard in their sockets.
You’re hopeless, and I’m a romantic, soft and gooey like caramel chew
My touch isn’t rushed, and yours is frantic; a bit unsettling, but still so new.
My mom would hate your earring’s dangle, my dad might mutter, “sick ************
But I like your silver chains’ jangle, and I’m simply sick of citrus suckers.
You’re sharper than shards of icicle glass, joking about my love for the sky man
Everyone says this feeling will pass, but I’m not quite sure it can.
What started as an inky smear has become a staining smudge
And where my eyes hold doubt and fear, yours have edge and grudge.
But when you look at me they crack like your lips into a smile
You spit a halfhearted comeback, and I let myself melt in your guile.
And you let me wear your rings, slipping from my pointer and thumb
You let me sing of saccharine things, laughing while you call me dumb.
What caught your eye was the sparkle on mine, blue hidden by gold glitter
What made you stay wasn’t how they shine, but how my words could match your bitter.
You don’t know what boat shoes are; I don't know how to line my eyes
You don’t know how this got so far; I don’t know why I went counterclockwise.
But now that I’ve had a new flavor, I’ll add you to my list
I think this is one I’ll savor; it’s like sugar, but with a twist.
Mar 19, 2021
Mar 19, 2021 at 2:34 PM UTC
[Nocturnal by Disclosure & The Weeknd is playing in the background.]
I know I love ***
You know I love ***
Everybody knows I love ***
Though it's hard to sleep
when lately every lady that I meet
when lately every lady that I ****
I see pieces of you in all of them
I see shapes of you
within the shape of her
When she's under me
or when I'm under her
The moaning, the passion, the sweat
Elicits the sweet memories of you
The feeling of the wetness of your *****
Against the landscapes of my fingertips
the softness of your sweet, supple *******
the warmth of your breath in my ear
as I continue to rub your ***** lovingly
the way your hand caresses my face
the way your body moves counterclockwise with mine
I try to tell myself that I'll move on from you
I try to run away from you
I try to forget you
but how can I forget you?
when you're everywhere I lay my head?
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 1:22 AM UTC
You look sad
Your smirk is kind of displaced
It makes me feel bad
Because frowns are just such a waste
Won’t you crack a smile and open your eyes
Just once stay locked in reality
Forget about turning time counterclockwise
Is your hobby watching false normality?
I want your smile to cross this distance
Past tattered heart and pain
Break through the resistance
Let only love remain
Vindicate to me about life
Every scattered thoughts persistence
Details of all your strife
We’ll slowly break your hearts resistance
Let the air adventure through you and breath in the sun
Let me fill your glass half full
Let me disintegrate away your fear like arson
Let me push and you can pull
Live in this very moment
Allow the sky to be your ceiling and the stars to be your light
There is no judgment
Not today or tonight
And although I can’t write a simple haiku
I’m certain there is one thing I can do
I can always be there for you
Jul 10, 2011
Jul 10, 2011 at 11:22 PM UTC
A waking life lost while walking
through incoherent moments
finding yourself as the only opponent
to learning, a yearning
of oneness above loneliness.
Let’s break open the head
and let the words flow
cascading from cliffs high above.
We’ll follow the current
of the crystalline clear drops,
right off the edge of the world
to the unknown below.
Once we know, wont the rest know too?
Do those flying in the clouds
hear the subtle sounds of a desperate man playing the blues?
I’d like to think that we’re all attuned,
radial dials turned clockwise, counterclockwise
reaching the same frequency.
Do diverging paths ever find parallels in consistency?
The setting seems to leave as foliage falls floating
from the outstretched branches of elderly trees,
elbows knotted in arthritic knots
that were tied in that moment before time
slowing down the perception of ones mind.
Only to find what we describe as infinite
is only the span of the blink of an eye.
But now, don’t cry, because the years
never really did pass you by
while you knew so little, mouth opened wide,
seeing through a lens from more childish time.
Can it be? Here imagination runs free
of the laws of the universe.
Let’s take to the sky and drift with the winds
as we traverse the beautiful nothingness that binds the earth.
Have you ever woken up from a dream
only to find nothing is as it once seemed?
The past is just that, more of a faded memory
than a written history.
We’ve entered the epilogue, orating scenes
the moment I’ve seen them,
the imagery passing so quickly, the transition seamless.
Just one moment stuck in time,
ever changing to the tune of one’s whimsical mind.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC