"derails" poems
a polar vortex
swirls eastward
on Siberian Tiger paws
bounding over
Appalachian Highlands
gobbling geography
gelling Great Lakes
spawning Erie blizzards
sculpting Wabash ice floes
clogging commerce all
along the Ohio River Valley
this voracious
juggernaut’s wide maw
bears icicle teeth
laughing as it swallows
Pittsburgh, Little Philly,
and a Big Apple, before
gorging itself on
generous portions
ladled into
simmering crocks
of steaming
Boston Baked Beans
growling
blue arctic
air blasts roar
bursts pipes
savages the heat
of blasting furnaces,
bubbling boilers, hot
belly stoves frantically
drinking oil, flaming gas
burning wood and
burping soot
the blistering
jet stream claws
screech a slashing
stratospheric hum
as Frigidaire blasts
swallows breath
brittles limbs
chafes cheeks
gnaws earlobes
crystallizes tears
nibbles nostrils
cubes snot
numbs toes
bites digits
diving sub zero
gradient subdues
batteries to
deaden states
delays buses
derails trains
cuts power
constricts veins
preys on
vagabonds
and animals
get the homeless
off the street!
bring the animals in
check on your
elderly neighbors
don’t get caught outside
and shut the **** door!
do you own stock
in the Public Service?
beware the polar vortex
and next months heating bill
Sonny Boy Williamson
& Otis Spann
Nine Below Zero
Oakland
1/6/14
jbm
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
The following statements of truth were brought to you
Not through, but circumnavigating fated parameters
Of insane, yet normative, largely uninformative
Mechanisms that formally give birth to ********
And instead, strategically splicing said bounds with
Ideal variables derived from the courageously quixotic,
Unrobotic, and outraged agents of, and for, capital Real:
The train of corporate reasoning derails so fast
To follow is to snap the head backward,
Far past angles within measures of pleasurable fit
And open gates to deluging tangled circular
Failures of logic that trick and co-opt the proletariat.
We are Present-Ambassadors with broken flux-capacitors
Demonstrating a consistent tendency toward error
In efforts to obtain diplomatic access to a future where
The same reemerging deficits do not manifest unfixed.
One of said deficits may include all positive freedoms.
For the record, it shall be noted that civil society
Currently arrives implicitly to find it compliantly fine
To promote systems of labor designed to illicit behaviors
That will eventually undermine the actors of exhaustive work
And make benefactors of those complicit in crime.
As case studies of this paradoxical paradigm, we observe
Nations signing trade agreements aligned with
Selling more of the goods whose extractions have
Cataclysmic exactions upon locals contracted not to resist.
Those who take issue with this are directed to appellate institutions.
The projected scarcity of over-consumed poisons causes fear
Which leads to faster hoarding and more ex(t/p)ensive death.
Thus, most human behaviors presently inflate pricing, popularity,
And rapidity associated with committing system-wide suicide.
As shackle-some power consolidation bends toward a transnational peak
I hereby slide-tackle these forwarded trends, seeking goals of the rational.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
Nursing my secret longings
I lie awake in the wee hours of the night
Mind restless, like a caged bird, craving redemption
My thoughts journeying through time and space
I recognize a thousand appetites
Still waiting to be appeased!
Sadly there isn’t time enough
To realize what I really crave.
It is in the stillness of the night
When sleep deserts the eyes
That mind derails its track
And wanders like an aimless vagabond
Though rooted firmly on the ground
At times, I feel, I lose my bearings
How I longed to paint my sky
In garish colors and shades!
I wonder if the scales of my life’s balance
Lean more to gains or losses now!
There was a time when hope ruled the roost
And I heard love’s soft whispers all around!
Now I am unable to precisely tell
What my mind craves and pines
But this much I know for certain
I am becoming worn and old
Years have so quickly skipped past me
With youth and beauty sapped away
Leaving life an exhausted well
With the dregs remaining at the bottom
My eyesight has waned, the earlier lustre gone
My once supple knees have started to creak
And the muscles, begun to sag
I feel as vulnerable as a foetus in the womb
Pain grows with years
As a smudge deepens into an erasable stain
I am no wizard to call back all that have left
But listen to their ‘long, melancholy, withdrawing roar’
No more springing steps
And a fast fading cortex
Still I stretch myself
To catch at Hope, winging away!
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 6:07 AM UTC
Silhouettes in moonlit mazes
your tears are complex superstructures.
Superclusters wrinkle I, negative energy,
tunneling through chasms forbidden;
you and I float.
Comes a sound, depth charged sleeper cell,
a bloop, a mystery, an unsweep,
a whistle, a Julia, a train, a slow down.
Heard by 350,000 zombies.
You and I sleep.
A child derails a train, safe to say,
that the world has its trapdoors.
Its a mystery, they say, but what do they know?
About us and our death.
You and I disorient.
Your two ******* hide a heart,
A mother board center of circulation.
Your body’s iterative delusion
Graces mine. And dissolves me.
You and I disintegrate.
We need to hack the heart,
With absurdity and farce and slipstream:
Into subspecies, we, simians,
We are grateful, gratified.
You and I evaporate
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 12:22 AM UTC
*Skim milk masquerades as cream
Wolves self-ordain themselves as custodians
Of the “good” of sheep and that they’re a team
In the quest for universal good, poor proletarians.
A fattened up emaciation
That derails the pursuit for accountability
Paving way for many a loophole
A stranglehold on emancipation
The sheep simply merely sign a treaty
With fate to elongate their back breaking life before taking a stroll
In either heaven or hell, that’s if an afterlife exists.
The wolf menace is thus a malignant cyst
To “body politic”
Posing mind boggling potential harm, worth incisive critique.*
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 5:02 AM UTC
Happiness & Misery
I tend to compliment
My confidence
With complaints
On how common place
My plain
Life is
The great times
In complexity
Simply
End
Too quickly
Being me
Became a meme
A trend
A fad
That lasts temporarily
As I change
The wardrobe
Of my beliefs
To best suit the situation
For times of war
Or times of peace
Offering myself
A sacrificial ME
Should suffice
For their superficial
Needs
Supplying their demand
Of wants
The difference they cannot see
I
No better than them
No better
Than what they seek
Not realizing
I
In this life
Is all I need
To proceed
To “ever after”
Happily
The other
Side of my brain
Supplies
The pain
And suffering
Inside of me
Ushering
The alternative
Reality
To my native
Faculty of thoughts
Felicity fails
And the facility
Of fury
Derails
My train of thought
This casualty
Casually causes
The worst case scenario
The battle within
Never ends
Each state of mind
Debates with
Indubitable facts
And stats
To seal my fate
The future lies
In mystery
Happiness
Or misery?
The answers hard to see
I still don’t cant find the key
To unlock the doors
To happiness in misery…
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 4:13 PM UTC
She derails me.
breathtaking, magnificent, tongue dumb
words fail and sense blurs
punch drunk love fear.
an unfamiliar juggernaut
on a collision course with sanity, confidence, self worth
unfamiliar, unwarranted doubt.
Paralyzed dumb,
I have no explanation.
Nothing taints a true childlike expression
I stray into unattainable delusion.
expectations, trailing tangents, delineation.
Peacocking: false representation of self.
Benevolent intention falls victim to accelerated dissonance
Nano lies upon nano lies build a plastic truth
Why am I doing this, and why can't I stop?
She would have loved the real me..
The tongue tied, school boy all awkward and sweet
Do I go for a kiss or just throw rocks?
Oh well, she's gone now.
The fake plastic boy scared her away.
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 11:45 AM UTC
Oh, Time, you are my mortal enemy.
Woe to those who wallow in your foul play.
Like a monarch ruling one’s sanity,
You dictate my every move night and day.
From your iron shackles release me now,
A slave to the drudgery of routine.
For when a youth to you I did not bow,
Coming of age entails pain unforeseen.
Family forsaken as work prevails.
Rest is absent amid hectic duties.
Allocation of your daily wage derails
Your subjects from life's priorities.
Perhaps when I’m senile I’ll smile.
But for now, I will mourn all the while.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
Lips move in frenzy and I start to drift.
All fall out of sync and the loudness is swift.
A train passes by as mine derails.
I pull the brake but the friction fails.
I see many faces alive but they bleed.
They still shout with an unfathomable creed.
Back in the mass again where I was,
I feel uneasy to know that there’s no pause.
A cloudless sky runs with haste.
I see people eating with no sense of taste.
Surrounded with the filth I begin to wonder,
If in this storm there ever was a thunder.
I lock my jaws and unlock my mind,
with numerous toungues spelling curses behind.
I infer, I dceree and I pass my chance,
leaving my inmates with a courteous glance.
Now I am happy and I kiss my luck,
blaming the noise with which I was stuck.
I see a doctor to ask for a cure.
He sounds pretty sound and he knows it for sure.
In his words he tries to be quite precise,
”They talk a little crazy disproportionate to their size,
of things they know and out of their sight.
They run with a torch that bears no light.
They laugh, they mock and hinder your way.
They bet their back as much as they may.
They mumble, they chatter, they faulter and sigh.
They look back a lot to disguise a lie.
To hide their faces they wear those masks.
They’ll answer to all even if no one asks.
Their demeanor to you looks absurd because
according to them, ‘the effect precedes the cause’.
They always get paid to wear and tear.
It’s in silence they die. It’s loneliness they fear.”
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
I have ideas that never seem to stick
Like a spark that falters on a half-lit wick
I think “Eureka! Wow, I've done it again!”
But when I mold my thought-child that’s exactly when
I get booted off for no ticket on this train of thought
And the project derails into an old vacant lot
That lot is a notebook at the foot of my bed
It’s labeled “ideas” but it should read “drop dead”
My ideas are all just orphaned on paper
Their father held interest, but started to taper
“I’ll get to it sometime!” but no clock reads “some”
I just like the feeling of ideas under thumb
Is it arrogance? I hope not, just a stream of dumb luck
Or maybe I’m just afraid of being told that I ****
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
Tired of runnin’
And fussin’
And sparin’ the details.
We got it good now,
A house, a family, you can go to school.
You won’t learn about us, baby,
They don’t give lessons on strange fruits.
The road derails, your smile retains:
Hope.
I pray you’ll never see blood on the leaves.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 5:58 PM UTC
You’re laboring under the false assumption that I’m willing to work at anything right now.
You’re laboring under the false assumption that any part of me is working how it should right now.
Here’s something: When you connect one wire to both sides of a battery, the plastic coating of the wire starts to sizzle and melt and smoke.
When I think, that thought leaves my brain for a while, pulling a new train of different thoughts behind it.
I have a small room, and soon, the train has laid tracks all around the carpet, along the hideous green walls.
Tracks everywhere.
I’m left with a choice I can’t make.
If the train derails, then I can’t think, and that terrible void comes back.
If I let the train lay tracks back inside my head, I turn into the battery.
Is that what going crazy is like?
Is this it?
Didn’t I already say I don’t want to go there?
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 5:20 PM UTC
Wandering the streets in vain,
A darkened soul calls my name,
Her haunting voice draws me near,
The path I take, will soon appear,
The fog as thick as yesteryear,
Clinging to my pores and hair,
My tired feet can’t take no more,
Seeping blood upon the floor
A dancing light, leads me below,
Underneath the watching crow,
Frozen as the light draws near,
The silent train of yesteryear,
She cries for me to save her soul,
The train derails out of control,
Arms reach out, push me back,
My legs are caught upon the track,
And silence falls….
The fog retreats from where I lay,
With phantom limbs upon display,
The curse remains for all to see,
No legs remain below my knees.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
Microspasmic and ethereal heavenly chords flow inside the avenues and walk ways walled in by different expanses of grey, a monochrome city.
If you have time to stand on the escalator I envy you; dread your existence and pity you on a Friday morning when everything is more quiet.
Hot sweat growing on my back, my fear and financial disparity exploding on my skin. Fresh roasted coffee beans and legs that prove endless and soft descending from a pink comforter.
I walk through the streets in the uncomfortable light of a September morning when the world struggles and it's health declines, but the light of winter is more pure - a planet bathed in cathartic light.
I never forgot how you looked on those mornings when it was colder - your face a faded navy in a morning still wrapped in night. The fire escape and scaffolding like bones that hold up our bodies and the life that applies pressure to the structure.
Akin to the city you are beautiful in the morning, alive in the day, joyous and free in twilight; restless in sleep. I've found a deep rhapsody in the smile that accompanies your perfume; stepping over a single crushed flower and someone's children sleeping on the street.
A sugary leak in and a vengeful glance his way, thirty-eight hour torment. Sitting upright in the bath with your phone resting on the edge waiting for a response, conversation boiled down to a pictorial exchange of genitals: horror that your **** isn't big enough, trepidation that your ****** isn't neat enough.
Tuesday saw you take that leap into forever, you come back up once you've drowned. Skin to match your nails. A train derails inside you; a man is stabbed to death. I'm awake and it's real and my bones are filled with molten fire which spits out of compound fractures to my ego.
A cup of water.
Nitroglycerin collar.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
As I write, my fingers think.
My mind listens.
My ears talk.
My mouth smells.
My skin tastes.
My eyes feel.
My heart sees.
The page I'm filling with words embraces my soul.
The only thing that never derails its proper function inside this case of imperfections, my body.
Bonded to my delusional soul, the only ink that writes for me.
And as I write the words dance to the melody of my insanity.
Creating psychotic musical notes sang only by those who suffer from my same neurosis.
And as I write, we all frolic in this enchanted world of dementia.
And this I write, tomorrow will no longer exist.
In the world others call "reality".
And as I write... my maniac self laughs at normality.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
None but the marked
shall rise in the dark.
Hell-bent;
the earth, shall they raze.
They took up the oath
to ever-revoke
mortality for immortal praise.
Lifeless, and hopeless;
a thirst so atrocious;
an eternal,
unquenchable lust.
In death, shall they grow;
to blood, they're betrothed.
Their hunger derails their disgust.
Sink teeth into skin;
to the flesh that's within;
bleed dry
the carcassed wellspring.
This world, once so grand,
'twas undone by their hand;
dereliction, their only decree.
The shade of the night
brings naught but delight
for those
who burn in the ray.
From out of the grave
spawn the crimson depraved,
feasting 'pon the walkers of day.
*When sunlight strikes west, 'til dawn, do we pray
against these abhorrent butchers called "They."*
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
(10 w x 9)
A glass of wine waits
beside a tureen,
..............where soup
......................
~~~~~
with twisted noodles
of choices
and reluctance
is
slowly simmering.
~~~
there's no fire,
yet,
ladle goes on,
stirring within
........amidst
~
quivers...
rivers of fear
..........of paths
circumstances may lead to...
~~~
to stagnate?
or rise from inner swamp?
::::: a recurring
dilemma
::::::::::
losing
people...things
most loved,
derails intentions,
w
e
a
k
e n
s
existing wall...
~~~
faces...voices,
wisdom gained,
all reside in
one's comfort zone
*****************
to move on,
or stall?
when?
tomorrow?
no!
not...yet...
*****************
doing n o t h i n g,
this humid evening
just swimming
~
~~~
~~~~~
in dark
waters.
~~~~~
~~~
~
Sally
Copyright May 31, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 4:26 AM UTC
I lay here feeling warm and a bit sickly
Bringing myself back to where I belong
In front of a piece of digital papyrus and my fingers caressing the keys
And creating life in forms of fiction and nonfictional word play
Writing of things I’ve seen, things I’ve done
People I know people who have touched my life in one way or another
Persons who have decided to leave my life
Ah let them go to live their own
All is well
And I have learned that now
I say good bye to the one who made me experience love for the first time
I say good bye to the one who makes callous remarks to ones he held dear
I say goodbye to the one who acted as superior as they wished they were
I say goodbye to the new born youth and wish them luck and my the spirit of life carry you
I say good bye to the one whose time I wasted and to them I give an apology as deep as my insecurities for I wish I was stronger to confront them when you were around but at least now you know what makes you happy
I say hello to the one who is in the pit of despair as I was but only 2 years ago
I say hello to the one who is in a moral quandary not unlike mine all those summers ago
And I say hello to the one next door whose footsteps remain to be right behind mine, my dear friend I love you and I shall help you, all of you for you would and have done the same for me
And I fall to my knees and bow my head onto the gritty ground in praise of the radiant beauty of the soul that has picked me up and taken me to what seems to be the realm of relief
Words cannot express the thanks and worship I have for you
I say good morning to the one who brings out the human in me
I make lunch for the one who feeds my heart with love so pure and true
I will take you where ever you want; you want to be with me
That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard
No wait that is your voice so sweet and honest it’s like the blast from the shiny brass trumpet in a jazz jam
Oh, my life has been renewed
My life has changed
Yet again but it has never stopped
Nor shall I
I will continue to grow and learn and unavoidably get hurt along the way
I had what I thought was the most important thing in the universe taken away and completely and utterly destroyed
I lost my faith, faith in it, faith in myself, and faith in others
Until I saw that nothing had changed I was just facing the wrong way and not listening to my inner self
I am now back on the right track and I will fight to make sure nothing derails me
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
No one ever plans on getting addicted
*It's just for ***** and gigs in the summer*
Until your Time derails and redefines horrific
now presenting: Time, Version 10-50
and she's prolifically sadistic
Oh & never forsake:
Time's strung out alongside you,
***Every.
Single.
Hit.***
And she's one haphazardly twisted
tantalizingly commited mistress
--Also, it seems we were just now informed
that it's way past Christmas.
Now a hot mess,
forlorn & seditious
Not to mention royally ******
by Mistress Time, still for sure
a 10-50 in progress
Needless to tell you,
we contradicted our predictions
Now Mistress Time's
throwing an egregious conniption
even though I know hearing
Self-Inflicted
makes for turned cheeks and Alienation,
Exigently,
if you please
I'm in dire need
of someone else's Time
To assist in the Valediction
of this debilitating infliction
so innocently called Addiction
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC
*If your plan's to love me then that plan's wrongly scheduled
If your plan's to love me better speak before I'm taken
Before my faith in romance is shaken and my soul too is broken
Come while I'm still outspoken, & the door to my heart's open
when I'm too honest to lie and still running on inflammable emotion
with strength to sail the ocean, when my boat's masts aren't rotten
and my love hasn't found her way into my corrupted doubtful mind
If your plan's to love me, say it while I still want to find
you so much that I believe love's blind
come and tell me while I can still really believe
before hope and trust ultimately take their leave
right now when I still find pleasure in emotional explorations and risks
speak before poachers cut my tusk
money's bound to be a curse that instills in me doubt
Tell me while I'm still caught hustling and running about
and in need of a compass to give me direction
when I haven't learnt to control my unrequited ********
the long journey to my mind
If you're planning to love me
Come while I still want to find
so much that I believe love's blind
come and tell me while I can still believe
before hope and trust take their leave,
lest poachers cut my tusks, beautiful tusks of optimism
Tell me before I'm coated by gorgeous pessimism
Don't wait till I'm too addicted to frigid ice of my desolation
to launch your frontal aggression
Put your plan to action whilst my mind's weak and heart's strong
before I find a place in this lonesome emptiness to belong
say it when I still can wholeheartedly host someone in my arms
before I'm totally cold and can no longer cuckold
Tell me before my train of thought derails and bee of despair hums
Don't keep me waiting any longer for patience is a weight
after all I think I've had the longest wait...
Speak, you might live to appreciate the single moment of courage
for something precious out of that moment you salvage...*
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
I chase the waves and ride the current
but my feet are stuck in the sand
as I stand on the shore
the tide turns around my core
sinking my ankles under more
The water crawls up to my knees
Leaving scratches from the shells beneath it's fingernails
it ties them together with ease
I sway forward and my body derails
I no longer breathe the breeze.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 8:43 PM UTC
He spoke of God
In a lucid whisper,
Probing questions rolling
Off his manic tongue
Like the crunching wheels of a train
Well-rehearsed in the verses
Of the Good Book,
And the third rail...
Having failed shock therapy
And the system,
He rambles in public spaces,
Eyes glazed by the passionate brush
Of a missionary
Who missed his calling...
By a manic mile...
As he smiles
On the corner of Bliss
And Insanity...
Switching seamlessly
From:
Probing preacher
To:
Choir teacher
To:
Sister Hillary...
The hand-waving,
Foot-stomping sister Hillary
From a baptist chapel near you...
Watch this,
Dear commuters,
On the 5 to 9 patrol...
This train runs Express
From Hopeville to Reality,
Local to Utopia,
And derails at Bellevue...
This probing preacher/
*** choir teacher/
*** foot-stomping sister,
Rambling on the corner of Bliss
And Insanity...
Could be you!
~ Pablo
(#TheThirdRail)
2/22/2014
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
I sit to write—
no, wait—where was I?
Oh right, the page, the pen, the—
oh, did I feed the dog this morning?
I can’t remember,
but I remember that song I heard last week,
the one with the bassline that sounded like footsteps
on a quiet street at dusk.
I should look it up,
but not now. Not now. Focus.
I try to corral the scatter,
wrestle it into something linear,
but my thoughts sprint off track,
like wild horses too proud to be tamed,
hoofbeats echoing against
the thin walls of my mind.
I hear a whisper of focus,
a fragile, fleeting thing,
but then...
did I pay that bill?
Or was that last week?
The thought derails me,
and suddenly I’m plunging
into twenty different tunnels,
each one darker than the last.
I try to speak,
but the words trip over themselves.
Half a sentence here,
a dangling thought there,
and I wonder if people see
the tangled mess beneath my skin,
if they hear the static,
feel the weight
of a world
moving too fast to grasp.
But sometimes,
in the chaos,
there is brilliance.
A spark, a flicker,
a thread of gold in the storm.
It’s in the moments when my mind leaps,
connecting dots no one else sees—
a kaleidoscope of half-thoughts
somehow finding form.
Still,
the struggle doesn’t end.
It’s hard to explain
what it’s like to live
with a brain that never stops moving,
that stumbles off the rails
just when you need it to stay steady.
But here I am,
sitting again,
lost and found all at once.
I will finish this poem,
or maybe I won’t—
oh, I should clean my desk.
Where was I?
Right.
I sit to write.
Aug 26, 2025
Aug 26, 2025 at 10:29 PM UTC
the scale derails
im walking on egg shells
it might as well be nails
I am so distant from you all
Im alone in the halls
I cant be a normal girl.
So carefree-
gossip, makeup and the malls.
Thats not me
alone.
I was.
I am.
But Not Forever.
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 8:51 PM UTC