"cumbersome" poems
A rose is a rose,
No matter where it grows.
Some saw thorns,
Beauty some chose.
Criticized by some,
Valued by loads;
People's opinions,
You can't change them by force.
Perfection is desired,
Even if it's freestyle prose!
Our lives might be cumbersome,
Let's accept the challenges they pose;
There's a bit of stardust in us all,
No matter hellish situations might come how close,
because, a rose is a rose.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
**Expectations are the baggage we carry
Getting cumbersome, with each passing day
We always get the unexpected from it
Our back seems to be crumbling under the burden
Weaving a web of expectations, and getting entangled
Unable to ameliorate the obfuscated mind
Reciprocating, with the intention of fulfilling expectations
Our steps become heavily laden, unable to walk
Even though a life beckons without the paraphernalia
We have already walked away from it, with our expectations**
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
You share your words, I cup my ears.
You shed your shell, I catch your tears.
When life goes awry, wisdom gives bliss.
I hold your face, forehead graced with kiss.
My words are calm, warm, and tranquil.
I'm gentle, understanding; tell me how you feel.
You're unburdened, cumbersome no more.
Uplifted you thank me and say your peace.
I'm alone again, but it's better now. I'm sure.
Wings flap; I close my eyes and feel the breeze.
Their once storms, now but a gust.
Shepard their dragons, I must.
Their dragons are slain, the fire is gone.
I shoulder their pain, my words drawn.
As they sleep, I sit and gaze at the stars.
I'm arrested, their beauty. Oh, how they glisten.
Frankly, I weep as I'm fighting their wars.
As dark as the night may fall, I'll always listen.
To whose ears may I profess?
Am I not too, simply a mess?
No one to be me, for the father.
Everyday, the man seems closer yet farther.
Who is there when it all seems so bad?
I know who I am, the man, my own dad.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 5:01 PM UTC
After having been raised and drilled into the ingrained wood
with the politeness of
"pardon?"
"excuse me?"
"come again?"
his calloused and critical "What!?"
brought out my cancerian nature
and shelled away my voice,
I breathed out a muddled/clumsy rendition
of my witty/quirky comment
and I instantly became aware that
my timid nature wasn't cute but cumbersome.
Apr 22, 2011
Apr 22, 2011 at 5:36 PM UTC
Skin as White as Winter Snow
Legs as Boundless as the Sea,
Stationed in Venice or Bordeaux
From Blue-collar to Bourgeois.
Hair is Chic, Yet not Pristine
Soft and Cropped and Fine,
Cheekbones High a Distinct Ravine
Embellished by a High Neckline.
Undefined Peaks and Troughs
Cumbersome and Lank,
Garnished in the Finest Cloth
Awash with Unassuming Swank.
Miss Androgynous hear my call
For I've Become a Virile Gent,
I Yearn for your Unwieldy Frame
That God in Heaven Sent
February 2011
Apr 3, 2011
Apr 3, 2011 at 3:11 PM UTC
Girl,
You’ll be a woman
Soon, so start
Straightening your hair
So it’s smooth and shiny
And cake on your cumbersome
Concealer because
Acne is for boys.
Browse bras in Victoria’s Secret
The ones with plentiful padding,
Push-up, so your cleavage
Screams: “I am a grown lady”
Even though you’re only thirteen.
Trade your sweats for slimming
Jeans that squeeze, skin-tight
Telling you to take a trot to trim
Your waist because you weigh
More than a delicate number.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC
the kid with the world in his backpack was very smart
his parents loved him very much
every morning they put the world in his backpack and sent him to school
This was cumbersome for the little one, but his legs grew strong fast
he made sure to keep his balance, as a wrong step could turn fatal
every day the world grew heavier
every day his legs grew stronger
he grew so strong he could jump with the world in his backpack
one day he gathered everyone he knew to witness how high he could jump
he compressed his legs and sprung towards the heavens
the world became unfastened by the jump
the child fell to his stomach upon landing
the world, now free-fall was so large
and his back so fragile
the child didn't even scream
as his back shattered into oblivion
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC
learn your questions.
discern the myriad as One, and console your misery with service.
pour your fumes into the heart of mars; press pause when your gods
make you nervous. and when they don't exist, you whistle while you hurt...
as if
the Master Plan
had jokes.
but know this.
your cathedrals have killed people, and your faith was crushed -
whenever sincere. so i
bid you peace. a peace with
tranquil thoughts and night lemmings;
squealing
right over the Cliffnotes to Oblivion, in vapid terror and happy herds.
their little parachutes; cumbersome, with snapped threads to a forum, that unpack, once filled
with air and
parents .
you inherit
the edge of your vague notions.... that expand
upon dissent .
heretic tick
BOOM !
then make love, all day Wednesday
learn your questions. gain the gist
of your out-risible ignorance and invent the humor of "precise submission"
as humility will boast , enthroned above the kingdom of desire
aching hermetic in a mob. but knobs -
that turn, despite severed hands
turn Truth's *****
learn your throat.
hold only the notes to your music
to a golden standard !
Brandish your exile, like a rogue -
from it's sheath of Turin
[ and flash! ] it's blade of grasp
in Walt Whitman's
Verile Phase...
face your loved ones, but only
with the face
that got away.
return...
return unbridled and
unkempt. more windswept
than lost and found
haunted...
and remember
eat whatever
you **** well please
because
" **** Dr. Phil, Really ? "
Have you ever seen an anorexic
Buddha ?
and bought that one ?
if you have...
you might be
ascetic.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
Now all the years of continued appreciation and near awe is to be sweet mingled with burning tears
Sugar cane can represent a lot of things to a lot of people and everyone has a different level of
Understanding how much it really means and then you factor in the tender years the Age of Aquarius
The coming of age standing in the sugar cane is one heck of a ride even greater with two wonderful
People in the front driving a 56 two tone Chevy love was new it was all consuming even from the side
View advantage when one projected a certain aura a mystique that was all of charm pure and simple
Fantastic vibes the dark night had a deeper *********** and knowing cumbersome had this distillation it
was one hundred proof it burned all the way charging changing you at deep levels the thing that over
Years was always renewing itself year by year the world has a wonder about it she was and is part of it
And always will be she was the sweet storm that could and did break every so often that would clear out
The heat and aggravation that is part of your summer of youth she always spoke and stood for truth this
Natural part of coming of age was developing in her character the very membrane of sugar cane I would
Think truly she was the finest quality I think they call it private reserve that special one that grew alone
but did all the richest sharing wait not in longing the true vine and stalk bears with preciseness to the
need of the land we have that in abundance life twist and turns seems at times to reel out of control but
Not so the divine hand holds the life steady all the days and then at harvest when they burn the sugar
Cane what unattainable value is found and then only then it pours clearly and vital worth
Unprecedented the gold separated from the dross is now possible for it to dwell and take its position
Among the other Items of true glory this was created over protracted time with love and patience it
Developed right before our eyes and a t times we knew it not but now we know fully well our profit pour
Out the benefit what life transpired thank you savior for sugar cane we are in disbelief of such greatness
in Our midst take care of it as only you can do !
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 7:05 PM UTC
It is not my story to tell:
Languishing dreams in the midst of barbed wire fences,
Fearless laughter,
We add lemon, chile powder and salt to this border.
They carry these stories,
Heavy as a sack filled with indignities,
Weighty, like your grandmother’s advice,
Cumbersome, like this daily mental displacement.
I have not bought big things as of lately,
In my mind I plan my exits,
I constantly check my relocation fund,
“What if” is a constant in my lexicon.
I often break in tears at the sound of an immigrant story,
My emotions become gallons of water:
broken and splashed by the boots of immigration officers,
Little do they know, we are cacti:
Tough and our seeds also flourish post mortem.
I want to sing an immigrant song:
Less like butterflies who migrate,
But more like dislocated nations,
Collateral flesh, caught up in steel thorns.
Rest assured we will survive,
Like leaves of siempreviva,
Even after torn away from our stem,
We will grow our own roots:
Defiant, resilient, and with a stubborn willingness to belong.
We are you.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 3:30 PM UTC
If I wanted to talk
about the hyper-spiritually-"honest" hippie roommate
who wears his heart on his sleeve and kangols
when he's working
at his cumbersome office
corrupting and invading the minds
of the masses to promote glasses, salad dressing
and laundry detergent,
it would take too much time out of my day
to point out all the hypocritical ********
this meditation obsessed wannabe "writer"
tries to passively fling on others.
He means well, but let' be honest,
all that dope he smokes
probably turned his brain to ashes
as the pile blew away some time ago.
Besides, I'd prefer not to talk about myself.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
.
/ / / / / / /
/ / // / / / /
/ / / / / / / / /
// / / •• / / / /
/ / / ••• / / /
/ / •lift me up over- / /
/ / head•for i only seek to shelter / //
you•from the sun who'd scorch you red /
**•from monsoon rains that'll chill you blue•you
may at times think i'm cumbersome to carry•when
the winds of change put you in all kinds of weather•
but i can collapse and fold... i stow away easy•keep me
close and i will spring to your aid... whenever, wherever•
such is my pro- •• mise to... you•
• • • •• • • •
for
yo-
ur
lif-
e's
un-
pr-
edi-
••• cta-
••• ble
journey•**
soon you'll find my words to be true•
that i'd forever be your brolly•
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
Passing through thick and thin, only
To be brought back to a far-off cry.
Don’t worry, this shall pass with time.
It flies fast with life’s distractions nearby.
Taking flight on tattered wings—
How sweet, the angels sing in harmony.
Their songs we will never know, so pure.
Untarnished in their world untouched.
Disconnected, wires and airwaves on fire.
A teardrop now unknown to cold souls,
It is easy to succumb to the robotic routine,
Life’s expectations drill us to our cores, unseen.
The touch of a hand is becoming
A cumbersome and time-consuming task,
A soft kiss no longer holds much meaning
In this plastic, pornographic societal wet dream,
We live in.
One day, will true love be a myth as
Onlookers sit and view a big screen
Unable to comprehend what it means?
To hold someone close, hearts beating deep.
Curtains close, black-sky-lined entertainment,
As they drive home to all the world’s last diamonds,
Embedded stones and gold of the earth,
Resources completely depleted.
Synthetic. Material. Superficial. Pasted. Plastered.
Artificial. Numb. Cold. Materialistic. Empty.
Words whisper throughout the day,
As if a shield and armor bringing about
A spiritual message through a voyage
Speaking to a place that feels so real,
Untouched like a firefly let go from
A glass jar meant to climb high to heaven.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 12:36 AM UTC
i arrived
early enough
to be comfortable
in my seat as
the patient and
impatient alike
shuffled the aisle
negotiating the overflow
of flaring elbows
protruding feet
and cumbersome torsos
a waltz of
dismissive apology
their only hope
to find their place
without inconvenience
yet with little interest
in whether they might
inconvenience
other passengers
along the way
watching
as a man
recently evicted
from the seat
he had evidently
not booked
surveys the nearby
empty spaces
his mind churning
an internal gamble
of which one
might promise
the longer period
of peace
before the rightful
owner arrives
he knows
he will need
to relocate
once more before
his journey's end
at some point
unknown to him
but predetermined
nonetheless
despite this
he settles down
in a seat marked
"reserved"
and closes
his eyes
Nov 30, 2022
Nov 30, 2022 at 6:34 AM UTC
The garbage in my room
Smells like embarrassment
It’s the hot Cheetos bag that sits in my desk
It’s the q-tips with earwax
The ideas that float around in my head
And my roommates toenail clippings
The garbage in my room
Clutters the free space
Taking up room that it should not take
The shopping bags and boxes
That held beautiful things
Now empty and cumbersome
The garbage in my room
Takes up my memory
Forgotten blog posts and poems
Fill the hard drive in my brain
Silly thoughts and quips
Only attempt to clear it out
The garbage in my room
Sits in the can
Thinking of ways to grow
Out of proportion
Waiting to spill out onto the floor
And start crawling up the walls
The garbage in my room
Needs to be taken out.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
Poured a potion into a glass
I must pause pain just for the day
Make breaking down a distant past
A few gulps in, lots less to say
Numbing the cold cumbersome wind
Feeling the nice, warm, sensation
Silent smiles, eyes rolling in
I've missed this lone meditation
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 9:46 PM UTC
healing:
*verb (used with object)
1. to make healthy, whole, or sound; restore to health; free from ailment.
2. to bring to an end or conclusion, as conflicts between people or groups, usually with the strong implication of restoring former amity; settle; reconcile: They tried to heal the rift between them but were unsuccessful.
3. to free from evil; cleanse; purify: to heal the soul.
verb (used without object)
4. to effect a cure.
5. (of a wound, broken bone, etc.) to become whole or sound; mend; get well (often followed by up or over ).*
reconciliation:
*verb (used with object), rec·on·ciled, rec·on·cil·ing.
1. to cause (a person) to accept or be resigned to something not desired: He was reconciled to his fate.
2. to win over to friendliness; cause to become amicable: to reconcile hostile persons.
3. to compose or settle (a quarrel, dispute, etc.).
4. to bring into agreement or harmony; make compatible or consistent: to reconcile differing statements; to reconcile accounts.
5. to reconsecrate (a desecrated church, cemetery, etc.).*
The task
painful and cumbersome
is to decide
if both can be.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
the clouds are breaking
slowly
and sweetly
and just enough to let ribbons of sunlight splash down on our faces
let's play today
let's fill the car with gas
and beer
and horseshoes
and disappear for a few hours on end
further south
on the lake shore
let's run rampant today
kick off our shoes and paddle over the cracking pavement barefoot
at full speed
and full of laughter
let's jump in the puddles
and build in the mud
and dance in the wild flowers like we used to
before we learned that others may be watching
let's fly a kite
unfathomably high
upwards enough to tap-dance through the rings of saturn
and scoop us up some treasures-
astrological costume jewelry just waiting to be adorned
let's sing like we aren't afraid
snap our way to center stage
and bathe in sweltering limelight for the world to hear
we'll sing away all our blues
and the rest of the world's blues too
let's jump off the high cliffs
in our steam pressed sunday best
to show at least ourselves
we're all we've got to impress
and as we're weightless and pressurized
beneath the surface of a glossy green lake
let the buttons
and cufflinks
and pearl earrings fall away
so we can see ourselves some clean way
again
let's forget
let us never remember being scared
and lonely
and lost
at cumbersome crossroads of the past
let's rebuild ourselves from scratch
press stardust and dirt
from the ground up
to make us new
and real
and something we can finally feel proud of
let's be magic
light in the dark
and love to the lost
we can heal hearts
we can hold hands
we can be friends
and be happy
let's play today
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 9:56 PM UTC
I'm disowning my name.
In America, my name is cumbersome
and clumsy
and confusing
so I'm leaving it behind.
See,
my name starts with an S and ends with a Z
and one's a mirror of the other
so they're like bookends
for a collection of letters
that spell a name
that I never really felt belonged to me.
Every morning, when I wake up,
I wriggle into my name
but it doesn't feel quite right.
It's like borrowing your best friend's jeans
even though she's tall and skinny
and you've got a hundred generations of Puertoriqueña swirling around the blood in your hips.
I don't like my name
cause it doesn't diffuse across your lips.
It bursts through your teeth.
It's got a weight on your tongue
that brings down the sound with the weight of
a thousand sinking ships.
I've got a
Hispanic Titanic of a name
but my skin's so white
it seems impolite to claim an ethnicity
that only lends its elasticity
because of my father
and the people that brought him here.
My name is not me.
It never was.
It is an anchor that keeps me on the island of what my family used to be.
I am not a race.
I am not a category next to a box on a sheet of paper.
I am the syncopated heartbeat of a tribal drum.
I am the ****** whisper of water on the sand.
I am the sunburn on the corrugated tin.
I am the hunger in the stomachs of the working poor.
So when I die
let me not be remembered by
fifteen letters I did not choose
seven syllables I did not select
three titles I did not ask for.
Let them tell stories of
what I did
where I went
what I saw
who I loved
the words I spoke
the thoughts I formulated,
ignorant of my race
free of bias and prejudice
and preconceived notions
of what I should have been
because in the end
none of this will matter
I'll have no strength for words
but with a penultimate breath
I'll still be able to smile.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
How do we divide up
The Christmas ornaments?
When they are all
Celebrating our marriage?
When they are all
"The start of our yearly
Ornament collection,"
We thought would fill
An entire tree one year,
Years from now,
When our love would only grow.
How do we divide up
The Christmas ornaments?
When they are all
Symbols of unity?
When they are all
Carefully chosen,
Unlike our love,
Which was blind
And taken with no other consideration.
How do we divide up
The Christmas ornaments?
Who is supposed to hold onto
These memories?
Who is supposed to dispose of them
When their memories are irrelevant?
And when the small collection
Becomes too cumbersome to hold onto?
How do we divide up
The Christmas ornaments?
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
Tap-tap the pens race
whilst hearts beat at an ungodly pace.
Never before have I seen such a frown
on such a smile-accustomed brow.
I wonder, if heavy hail were to fall
would they even notice at all?
Their dear old pencils are on the grind
as they chew them with an absent mind.
However, some are not as amused as I am
as each minute on the clock appears ******
They fidget in irritation, their patience hardly deep,
and some even try a hand at sleep.
Exams. What a cumbersome concept to me.
So much time allowed, but hardly freed.
What excitement when the bell strikes, friends!
Then, our drooping eyes study.
And it starts.
All. Over. Again.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
A grin as wide as the ocean, his lips the smooth ribbons in waves as the sun undergoes a setting.
A dance with words in greeting, the effortless lack of cumbersome voids
but in them our dancing shapes and laughter.
An embrace embodying our unity in which we have become a foreign groove;
the orchestrated melody in which minds cannot comprehend how to move to.
We, in our own, a language no one else understands.
And if in our foolishness the world around us falls into shambles, I know ours won’t.
But he is only the faint wisp of an echo in the mountains, the mere illusion of an oasis, the waterfall in the far woods under a bright white sky, twigs and leaves interrupting a brook, the last firefly alight in a jar,
the fluttering words on the breath of two seekers.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
I should have thought,
It would be easier,
Somehow haha,
It is neither here nor there,
A coincidental chain of things,
Setting in motion
Something akin to,
A dreamless day,
A wooden sort of way
Of going about,
Cumbersome,
Turtled,
Thiking about,
Nothing while,
Fixing blye eyes,
Analysing speech patterns
A superior sense of spatial awareness
Coupled with sartorial elegance,
That could be counted in kilowatts,
***** is the incumbent ruler of a blank,
Where are our chaperones?
This is not the kind of party I had envisaged,
A monster is as much as you allow it to be,
So take me to solitude.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC