"detuned" poems
Karma police, arrest this man
He talks in maths
He buzzes like a fridge
He's like a detuned radio
Karma police, arrest this girl
Her ****** hairdo is
Making me feel ill
And we have crashed her party
*This is what you get
This is what you get
This is what you get when you mess with us*
Karma Police
I've given all I can
It's not enough
I've given all I can
But we're still on the payroll
*This is what you get
This is what you get
This is what you get when you mess with us*
And for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself
And for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself
For for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself
For for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself
Phew, for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself
(In the early version, the first verse went):
Karma police arrest this girl
She stares at me
As if she owns the world and
We have crashed her party
Songwriters: YORKE, THOMAS / O'BRIEN, EDWARD JOHN / GREENWOOD, COLIN CHARLES / GREENWOOD, JONATHAN RICHARD GUY / SELWAY, PHILIP
S T - 24 nov 2013
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
lonely chord tired guitar play
soul numb as callous fingers
heart hollow as sea rusted string
flat wrought steel,
peeled off tire
fire face melted
fleeting garish glimpse of starch shirt 60s
itchy lice life like gene spliced flight patterns
bioengineered space age
Han Solo with (hold) full o'Spice
Synthetic Cannabinoids sprayed on Marshmallow leaf ruin life
Chewie grab the bowcaster, ill grab the glock foe blaster
Smash, mash and crashed'er like Britons of Lancaster
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 3:04 AM UTC
*Those words I've been dreading to hear,
Not boldly uttered--
But clearly, I could feel...*
***Unspoken words, indeed they sear...
Seemingly rendering you unfettered.
Our flags mismatched in mauve and teal.***
*I marched my fingers, slowly,
To your cheeks down to your lips.
Touched the traces of stained tears.
From deep slumber,
You've awaken.
Eyes fluttered open.
Those eyes.
They spoke.
Those eyes.
They told me to stay---
To stay.
Away.*
***I cupped your face while time froze in
eternity...
Locked in tender gaze as my heart dips.
Reflected in yours were the wasted
years...
Felt the weight of commitment's anchor...
Dragged over a land forsaken...
Overladen...
With dastardly lies...
Tinting future skies so grey,
But my mouth would welcome the urge to
say,
Of the courage long held at bay...
This minute... This day...***
*Sweetly tortured by your kiss.
The pain came.
Swift.
Blinding.
Sharp.
It pierced me to where i am.
My heart shattered before it dies.*
***These subtle hints you conveniently miss,
Only hastened the end of this game...
Time had seen our hearts set adrift...
We are only playing,
A broken, detuned harp...
Withholding our conflicting wants, much
like a dam.
Protecting us from defeated cries...
So let us dispense with sweet
pleasantries.
Let us bid farewell to the dream of our
unified fates in one painful sigh...***
*Along with all our
memories.
And your words of goodbye.*
iammissbrightside
ryn
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 3:11 AM UTC
Strings taut in my head
Set haphazard side by side
Detuned and off key
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 12:08 AM UTC
Allen Ginsberg, a raving madman, a man beyond the borders of normal
once said, “Poets are ****** but see with the eyes of angels.”
His ranting howls, mere paradoxical clamorings (LOUDER).
His bootless, penniless, homeless cries, slight nonsensical musings.
His power subdued, his passion put-out, his well of enumerations run
dry…
Can you hear him?
(LOUDER!!!)
Are you even listening?
What do holy angel-headed hipsters like he see?
A myriad of star-crossed artists, poets, gurus, and monks?
A tired and beat batch of street corner hustlers, homeless and hungry?
A drunk in the back-room bar?
A stumbling, shadowy silhouette in the by-street (an enigma...)?
An old man, philosophizing to everyone and no one but himself?
A juke box stuck on repeat?
A young couple, making love with their feet under the table?
A trio of jazz musicians out back for a smoke?
A bar maid making minimum wage, or nothing?
A priest who's losing his conviction?
A down-n-out loner, dreamy, dazed, dashed,
staring at the bottom of his empty beer glass
(who will buy the next round)?
A nosey cop?
A rosey fop?
A belligerent racist?
A beat runaway?
A child begging? (there are so many...)
A fed-up fanatic? (too loud, too loud…)
A would-be protester-rioter-anarchist, giving up and going home?
A giggling girl, flirting, with her skirt hiked high?
A show-off with an inferiority complex?
A shy recluse, too afraid to walk through the door?
A power-hungry politician, his propaganda blasting through the static of
a detuned radio advertisement, paid for by (who are these people?)?
A struggle, never-ending, ever-renewed, always there, always alive,
but only seen through crazy, mad, angelic eyes.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
Haven't really eaten, in a long time.
Wasting away. Physically,
but not mentally yet.
Yet.
Banging on instruments for
the perfect cacophony.
Stormy tonight outside Cleveland
as I stab away inside my laboratory.
Raining hell and I **** around
till my ears are almost bleeding,
screaming, more aspirin,
lighting thunder, and in the
dead sequences of recording
IT LIVES.
Strings detuned from a menace,
pure chaos on a note rings on,
SKRONK.
Skronk is freedom,
every voice saying what
every voice has to say.
5/4 and it's ******* outside,
and all I know is the key to
utopia is any note you like
in A major.
**** the signature.
Skronk is freedom.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
three two one. fade in. you
are a dream time
will molder.
i return to you each arm.
the wildfire of you; flew rubies.
pitched; and scalded. moonless,
we carried the night like
flying-carpet fabric of our
soul. the way your words
shone, fluttered.
clung to the frayed spine. radiance
and immaturity. counting you
in ribs; starved of stomach. crumbs
like gratitude.
the shades of you in
detuned strings.
you wanted to see
slide. i dream of pulling
focus and zoom but maybe
it is better a dream. yours
were those of emerald;
mine, abstinence.
i watch you fade fast
fire gone grey fire famished
trickle and then
drowning; rhythms of limbs
and limbs, downy limbs
and waterlungs
i close my eyes
you are a dream
time will drown
and it feels right. a hollowed-out
kind of right.
fade out
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 3:50 AM UTC
I once asked my parents if I could join cadets. They asked me if I knew what cadets grew up to be. I never brought it up again.
I got into a fight with a friend about her ex. We haven't spoken in months. She still hasn't forgiven me...
Someone detuned the piano in my mind and now music sounds awful. I want to find where melody and harmony met and made a straight line coming back to me.
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
it was a kiss with coyote’s embouchure, with the river’s casket, with gelified venom, with the apron’s appetite, with compact distortion around portable lip cuffs, with trite lies liquified, with mud clumps in mercury clasps, with spit woven theses, with unwound ovoid wellsprings, with sun-hidden shadows, with the frayed nighttime squish, with closeted hand dice tossed, with chance in the fistfuls, with detuned static and bellyaching bramble, with losing yourself, with entropic dissociation, with fleeting tokens, with sayonara stamps, with honey pumping nozzles, with inside out stratus veins, with the pain of history tucked in the trail fringe, in the pebbles kicked outward, with fried abandon, with seatless balconies, with the touch of an insect unexpected while straddling a brick wall with electric grout, with eyelashes trimed by the wind, with patterns passed, with breathless shapes and shaping dimensions, without the taste of lavender or the mosquito’s lonely thirst, with time passing, with time passing, with time passing, without passing time, with the sky dumping elected dead bodies, with spoonfuls of miracles, with starvation kicking, with moon swells forgetting the fomite sea, with weather inside, with dry mouth drawer memories, with omens and herrings with teeth and tongue.
Feb 26, 2021
Feb 26, 2021 at 12:03 PM UTC
I walk my life, a subway station
Where dirt consorts
The air around.
It pounds my nape,
It flames my mind
With sights and fates
And sounds.
Above, a tram goes up the alley
Tinged with canary hue.
Below, my wit:
What void, what valley:
It sank, in Tagus mused.
I take a seat, doors screech behind.
O, what wondrous whiffs?
Of metal beams
Attriting loudly
Against metal wheels?
To a halt it cuts my chain of thought,
Rivals my dream, they brawl.
'Tis from the gallery
Of broken hope
The beggar man crawls.
Intemperate horns his entry announce,
Dysphoric scenes aground.
He comes detuned
Near clears his throat,
Lethargic voice resounds:
I beat my cane
In wrongful rhythm,
'Cause wrongful
Was my life.
My voice hurts from
All this singing:
'Twas morphed into
A sigh.
I longed, I longed
For all my sinning
Was ought to be repaid.
Deserved so much,
God took my
Will, my sight,
My love, my
Name.
So tell me, vagrant,
What did He take?
-Said I-
Who has loved you?
What is your will,
What name did you go by?
I used to be a man of soul
Whose heart beat strong and dign,
I used to write
And then I died
On the 10th before July.
He took my coins for all my service
At wars:
At land
At sea
-The waves still have her,
Laying there still,
Waiting away from me!-
Said he-
I will my love,
My fire, passion
-My young Natercia!-
Most darling of all nymphaea!
So God is just after all,
Replacing sin with grief.
No need for me
To pay the man:
God has done the deed.
The deadbeat coins of his cup
Turmoil ever so slightly.
I leave my dream,
Doors shrill again:
'Tis time to end my journey.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 9:28 PM UTC
With passing time
the paint begins to crack
and slowly peels away
Revealing a tainted canvas
of what you really are
as opposed to how I pictured you
I try to figure out
what is more heartbreaking,
Who you really are
or what I wanted to see.
The angel plucking my heartstrings
its lovely sirens song
or the Demon
who ripped them away
leaving a silent void.
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
If trees could talk theyd tell stories.
Of a moon mad boy that travels between the seams.
A guitar motor.
A love punch horror.
A love **** taker,
The holy rock maker.
Crashing gates
takes the face
from bark.
Stoic as the trees
sonic as the sound
crazy loon lashing
dance around.
Heard a voice
One with the birds
birdy brain feather
emergancy of words
Killer killer
the liqour drinker
the little libra
The sinatra fevor
The apple eater
stream water drinker
the hopefull hopeless
Cautious curious
bring it back
the fat cat
the heart beat speaker
detuned reaper
an desperate dreamer of romamce roads and rigamorits
Carolina fire flies
tenneses weeping walls
arkansas arkane maw
The dandy dandalion
Photosynthesis the good times.
The photo prisim
The self made prison
The wall written upon
the wall dashed upon
friends family lovers understood
break down rebound
Some new coast bound.
Nothing but words,
And one with the birds..
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 7:04 AM UTC
Her fingers dance along the keys.
Delicately at first, then with more conviction,
As she grows more assured.
"Something inside this one is broken," she says,
The disappointment plain on her face.
Then she moves on.
After a time, sometimes a day,
Sometimes more,
Another comes by,
Finding the notes to her dislike.
"This tone is not where it should be."
And like all the others,
She moves on.
The instrument has been there waiting
For a long time.
When the shop closes,
And no one comes to peruse,
I sit down with myself,
And strike the chords aloud.
They sound beautiful to my ears,
As my heart-strings always do.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 11:31 PM UTC
Here in the wasteland
Swarming
Cold
Gazed with locked doors
The shadows of your frail body
Scared me
Imminent contagion
The land opened its mouth
To swallow the town
I would've felt bad for the mayor
If he had treated us with an ounce of respect
Our dry throats singing broken tones
Like a detuned string
Air comes out foul and distorted
The hymns were sang and
The souls ripe with hope
Danced
Instinctive motion
Of the universe
Laughed
My gaze was extinguished
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 11:45 AM UTC
——————————————————
midway up the alleyway
among illegal upheaval
urban street backgrounds
swell unfolding into soundscape shapes
for exchanging
cracked mufflers
and
broken English as ingredients
out in this blacktop district melting ***
ramp-up,
cascade,
clatter,
and crash
spilling out almost detuned chords of reverberated sustain
into and echo through my window
in an oscillating fling around the ceiling fan
and from there it’s on repeat until dusk begins to loom
Static sizzle begins a final crescendo
And quickly takes its medicinal weakening
inevitable low murmuring enduring
in an almost complimentary gradation
a fading to dark (so you know where we’re at)
Frogs and crickets use their voices
In nocturnal harmony
singing the daylight to rest
while synchronizing intone
all those unforgiven and withdrawn souls
can take a new step forward
walking in stride with carefree invisibility
beneath a scattershot of luminaries
that constellate a shadowy veil
draped over town
My town
and Your town
and across
in a floating waft
Dispatched via the calm blue astral spheric hue
from a lunar dome
Or
cosmic citadel
represent
Represent
REPRESENTING
for all our collective
Grandmother Astral-sphere
————-————-————-————-
Sep 23, 2020
Sep 23, 2020 at 11:45 PM UTC