"deviating" poems
I'm stuck inside myself
I got scared and called for help
but a year of pushing friends away
left me yelling to nobody
I missed all of my exits and now
the road looks unclear before me
I've forgotten what I learned in driving lessons
and I keep seeing signs of you and me
I'm stuck inside myself
waited too long to ask for help
a year of deviating healing
and speeding down roads I carved out of skin
I should have shed months ago,
how will I know?
What does healing look like?
This intrapersonal fight has fogged my eyesight,
and the roads are snowy now since it's winter again,
I fear I won't ever win,
this intrapersonal warfare has left me on the field,
wounded and silent, afraid to reach out,
I fear I might not ever know what it's like to heal
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 12:21 AM UTC
"Because cowboys and snakes are my kin"
Because I feel volcanoes in my skin
Because I've sinned
Because I want to get in
Because I've already grown...
Nature replicates in sets of eight
Deviating ends of the weak and the great
Chemical stew makes memory fail
Chemical brew makes brain inhale
Do the push, take the plunge
Absorb the agony like a sponge
Can't map the contradictions
(Is there truth in fiction?)
Give up the blood and give up the ghost
Reaching out to them that hate you most
Couldn't even reach level two
Divy up the army between red and blue
Pieces slowly fitting
But puzzle never solved
Reaching out to nothing
Only one resolve
Listened to a hero's song
'Bout a thousand times
But wisdom never sank in
Too much focus on the rhyme
(Prayed for the night, for the very first time
But night never came
And the rain falls on everyone but me
Cause nature's got a few tricks up her sleeve)
Imperfect circles, always imperfect circles
(Autumn angel gets their wings)
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 3:50 PM UTC
Head a hostile environment again
Emotion overthrows intelligence
Fragile skull accepts another beating
and indecency becomes preference
Absorbing black into gray matter
Meticulous infiltration;
Makes death a desire
and living a fear
Friendly fire
Mind battles disease, disease
obliterates mind to violence
collided with sharpened corners of myself
****** mess, wrong message
Swallowing hostile heavy medications,
contain my elation so that overjoy
doesn't morph into mania, or joy
Mass of electrons now inside
find nothing positive; thought paralyzed
Deviating cells that scare themselves
from the darkened sanguinary state.
wide eyed faces searching for a homeostasis
Far from stable since demon's rule
Constant epiphanies with no execution
turn to facts filed in brain catalogs
Fully aware solutions are there,
but the drawers are glued shut
~kb
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 12:43 AM UTC
*if an idea for a poem pops into one's head
the genie of imagination begins inking
every piece referencing an original thread
one formulates works by this unique stead
of its methodology there will be no sinking
if an idea for a poem pops into one's head
images and descriptive terms then spread
through each line noted on a linking
every piece referencing an original thread
to create one's own mixture of bread
never deviating far from the nub's clinking
if an idea for a poem pops into one's head
always keeping time with a continual tread
the blue-print imparted in one's thinking
every piece referencing an original thread
what concept may spring to one's mind lead
within the verse there found natural blinking
if an idea for a poem pops into one's head
every piece referencing an original thread
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 9:43 PM UTC
The Wicked Witch from Woodhaven,
It's quite an obstacle being your offspring.
Never have I been so self hating more when I listen to your heart-knifing words and unsympathetic demeanor.
Undermining my warm and graciousness as if I am some ant just waiting to be burned by sunlight through your magnifying glass,
I pray that some day you will change.
But a person so mentally unstable cannot change,
As you have passed those genes down unto me.
You have me riding some emotional rollercoaster at a carnival that Goblins should attend,
And not the normal, lively human soul.
Thankfully, I've decided to go elsewhere.
But the clowns that you call ailments won't allow me to leave.
I vow to change my ways, aiming to stand up to such an evil and love-deviating woman,
Yet your words freeze me up like your mouth is Antartica,
And your brain is scolding due to your visit to your throne in Hell.
I've suffered many tragedies inside my own mind,
Sad songs that are on repeat.
Carelessness and forgetfulness has brought me to decrease my envy of you.
You've devoured the confidence of your once favorite child for more times than he can count on both hands,
And both feet,
Twice.
I can appreciate the fact that you've raised me,
As it is nearly impossible to raise such a troublesome child.
Though wishing you had never even birthed me in the first,
I hold you responsible to why I am subdued.
Nurture has been long forgotten,
Since I had last treasured it so.
A mother's love is all that is good and holy,
But what is it worth to Satan?
You would know,
Since he is in fact, your creator.
Wicked Witch,
Stubborn *****
How awful these words sound to me.
They come out in frustration as you lead me to temptation,
And insecure I shall always be.
Crotchety old ghoul,
You've treated me like a fool,
For far too long I've counted.
Everlasting therapy is in order,
And forever you and I will be separated,
Separated by a border, That I have built,
In order to salvage some sort of a stable mind.
Kindly accept my creed to await,
The finalizing version of myself.
I've longed for such mortality,
Due to your immorality,
As guardian of my unnatural life.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC
She had a tongue that could open a wine bottle.
Razor-sharp articulation.
A fine art, some might say.
Living sentences on a knifes-edge.
It started in a unblunted manner,
The force hit smacked splintered minds like a hammer.
Honed in cuspate motions,
Incisively smashing the nail on the head.
She wasn’t wrong often.
Vivacious wit vivid oscillating witch,
some might say.
Not I.
I followed in the downstream of her resonance.
A quivering wreck,
soaked from head to toe in her libretto.
She marched in stilettos,
locomotive tip-toe motion,
devotion to the traverse.
Deviating as s he ambulated across lurid cobbled paths.
How she manages, alas.
Evades my comprehension.
She had this brunt agitation,
as if,
she couldn’t hear the words you say to her.
Maybe it was her nescient nature.
A think naive conversant,
If only it was that simple.
Those dimples on her cheeks were like craters in the moon.
That cheesy laugh fractures.
She escaped from Alcatraz,
Caught only by the dereliction,
of her minds conviction.
Infamy lapsed,
as she collapsed in a pretzel of marvellous contortion.
She radiantly turned to stone,
a statuesque stanza.
Cloned in allure,
that never found answers she was looking for.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
Penitence, /
Repentance: /
—Deviating from erroneous ways /
To a place of integrity. /
The Lonely River flows /
From Sin & Death /
To Living Waters. /
(—Se’ lah)
08-08-2025
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 10:36 AM UTC
We used to be so close, so inmost, so opposite and disposed and yet so equal and lazy that we were one.
Opposites attract and then get distracted. Equals distract and then get attracted.
We are opposites, we are equals, we are strangers.
We were opposites, we were equals, but today we are just two strangers with a routine of talking everyday about stuff that never existed.
We are two points intertwined by a circular line that keeps moving without our consent, lost in a infinite time space.
A friendship disguised, a feigned tolerance, a mutual and misunderstood need of acquaintanceship between each other.
A prophylactic and procrastinated love that wants to keep distance, deviating itself from the deep suffering.
But what suffering?
The suffering was only the avid fear by pain that turned us into two unaware and afraid of everything.
We are singular.
We are plural.
We're diminutive and we're augmentative.
We are two laconic passengers of the wacky train without driver that is the prolix relationship of humans, love and hate.
We are two regular strangers in relentless pursuit of deterioration of our love as a solution for all in our lives.
We are two remote lovers in relentless pursuit of deterioration of our lives as a solution for all our love.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 1:43 PM UTC
Krishna, the Lord, my Beloved
Took me to a world of yours
Where only you and me
Made me forget the outer world
Deviating me to other priorities
Slowly made me forget you
To see how much I love you
You are the Maya, Magician
Came to me to awaken my love
Showing your innocent face
Sobbing like a missing child
As I left you and your thoughts
Deeply immersed in another world
Craving back for your love now
Realising that you are my only world
Leaving me alone in this world
Where you made me responsible
Never knowing my love for you!
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 10:44 PM UTC
.i come across objects that, being inanimate... somehow impose on the inanimate conviction of stasis... faking their inanimate ontology... in stasis... becoming animate... smiling... and... for all the oddity... i feel... slightly bewildered by the welcome... like i'm expected... like i'm welcome... just prior to death... i know where i am being allocated a home... and.. its a home, which foundations are focused upon the virtue of... patience.
but i've seen faces!
carved into stone!
**** your rationality!
**** it!
let it die a nice, solemn death
of being reprimanded for
deviating
from the scholastic bedroom
antics... of:
revising rubrics...
i care as much for it,
as i might care for...
whatever the **** it takes
to conjure up a turd's worth
of custard...
let's see the ******* ice-berg...
then, only then...
will i bring out
the ******* Titanic!
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
d'harga'h! urn! and sung clemency with the sign of the cross - Mr. Longinus - a baptism awaits...
in the Turkish shop buying my beers -
politics talk, gone Razza - Tahir -
talk of politics - deciphered a word:
Erdoğan (Erdoghan, Edrogrzan,
what was it - macabre radish to taste -
niechmaj sto Vlad'a reka na tle kiwnieniem raz!
i krok poza 'sztem! bogiem byka wybryk
szto?! - the crowds descended, and the kestrels
and the pigeons, and the swans,
and the migratory storks, and the seagulls -
for the Winged-Hussar Polonaise.
fluff of the wings -
the Mongol stench
reinterpreted - i rather be picking
ethnic mushrooms - kropki polka -
and koniewki - łopieniek & canary -
grünling in German, gąska zielonka - Pan Kleks -
or Chanterelle Mushroom - pepper shakerz -
kurki, tzn. te słynne grzyby.
the deviating kurka - or chickpea foetal
variant of fungus - or alias chick.
each time they pithy my assertion to claim the
ethnic brothel of Europe that Poland is for
the noble families - each time they undermine
the worker testifying the fuck-worthy ****
prior sleep - pride settles in -
and a long forgotten assertive builds up
to architectural proportions -
it just ends up being a game of throwing
copper coins into Scotland, potatoes into Ireland...
and dinosaur bones into Wales...
and post-colonial subjects into England, lazily
packed with the labels **** and Hindu;
Karzimierz Dębski could have said: it was never
supposed to come to this; shame that it did;
the safety option was exacted.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
What if the thing that brought you the most joy
Was also the monster in your life
That with every glimmer of desperate happiness
Something else decided to slide it's devious knifes into your side
Is the good part of the deed that is done
worth sacrificing the little bits of your heart that are left
It's always been this way with you
deviating between the good and the bad
Always going with the delightful and enchanting look first
then changing to a different hue, that we all know so much better
This always could be so much longer
not today, today was a day spent bleeding
Don't you wish today was just like the day at the beach
instead today was just like the day after the beach
No longer enjoying the rays and the waves
instead metaphorical blisters represent realistic screaming pain between us
Hope for tomorrow
and pray for the next day after.
Since tomorrow is a good day for us to talk, your voice will bring me joy
I'll break the cycle here, to see if it'll fix our lives as well.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
...tick, tick, ticking, aloud, whilst silently brutal,
in it's cadence, rhythmically severe, and futile.
Pounding out these infinitely deviating days,
seeping through this blurry persistent haze.
With rhythm matched to the human heart,
in it's seconds, the years all come apart.
Ravaging alike, flesh and fragile bone,
endless, ethereal, always ticking drone,
leads men to dust, metered without power,
...tick, tick, ticking out these minutes and hours.
A continuous knock at our existence's door,
til' it will cease to knock, forever more.
We all leave in a darkling, of seconds quick,
silently redundant, it marches on, tick, tick, tick...
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 3:17 PM UTC
with the U.S.A. it's oh so monochromatic.
why is it that when i
listen to Simon & Gafunkel
i think of Woody Allen?
well, anything goes
with under-representation,
apart from the Jews
and the English we're like that angry
integrated and assimilated
black women giving a near
**** salute although ******
like the Black Panthers
at a Nordic parade... Orange Coats
in Belfast, perhaps William minded,
or perhaps the Red Coats
were too deviating in propaganda
(need orange)...
while some **** gets told to suffer,
suffer, suffer... expect no
justice and propose no alternatives,
if it ain't private enterprise
don the ******* mask and say
you won the national derby on
a donkey rather than on an arab stallion
feeding it hallucinogenic carrot paradise
rather than the whip.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
( written by friends who know and shared here with their permission)
don't dwell on ****
the past has passed.
and throw the drugs
down the toilet.
do the things that make
you feel better,
and avoid the things
that make you feel crap.
whatever they are.
eat and drink
things
that make you feel nice,
and be in such places.
know who your friends are
and know how much to load
on them.
force your self
out of bed in
the morning,
go for a walk
enjoy nature.
get a dog.
avoid the news,
and depressing tv.
know
your own routine,
and don't let other people
tell you it is wrong
or feel guilty about it
but also know the line
between what is your own
paranoia and anxieties,
and what is just normal
emotion
and reaction.
be aware of reality,
and how you are
deviating from it.
get over yourself,
and lighten up.
some of it is
indeed physical and psycological,
but much of it
is just ******
Take as much advice
as can be ,
but it is up
to the individual
to make the decision to change.
as you know.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 8:12 AM UTC
To whom this moon is navigating tonight?
You are so shining and radiating tonight
My soul is dancing in rhythm of dim light
Songs of your bangles are agitating tonight
Grandma told me to wish to a falling star
I wished long ago but still awaiting tonight
It was your gravity which kept me encircling
I'm not in my orbit and deviating tonight
How many sleeps your thoughts have spoiled yet
Nights are awakening and aggregating tonight
Earth, air, water, fire seem to be disturbed now
All our horoscopes are escalating tonight
Will our stars be matching in next life?
Astrologists are meeting and estimating tonight
I had requested some place in her heart
I heard, she agreed and allocating tonight
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC
Come and go
Seasons barely touching as autumn transitions to winter
The passers by see devastation unbeknown to theirselves
A storm of leaves in auburn hues constantly plummeting towards the ground in every which way possible
All a gorgeous streaky blur as they advance through the graveyard of the world
Leaving every grave untouched as they float past
It's all noticed by the passerby
Perceived through crystal clear glass
Every single stark detail untouched and untampered
Seen as it is
On they watch
They won't admit but relief, gratefulness flood their beings
As they glide by
Feet above the marshy ground, soggy and trodden
They are not yet ravaged by life's cruel twists
Free from the plooms of smoke and swirls of mist
Judgment unclouded by the murky emotions of the graveyard
On and on they advance
Torturous sights behold their eyes
Past souls tormented by the weight of fate
Lives consumed by its deviating path
A gloomy and crooked path indeed
For the passerby: some knowledge
Make the most of your lucid journey
And when it shall end do not lose yourself among graves
For those tortured souls: continue as passers by
Do not bury yourself with your grief for it shall drag you to the depths
And it does not let go
Such is the fate of this life
But ultimately it falls upon you
KG
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 2:05 PM UTC
You call and say I'm aberrant
You don't wanna be stuck indoors deviating
I don't like your storms
I miss your floodwaters
I need an affectional sleet
I miss your earthquakes
Then you came with all your quaking
You must think I'm an aftershock
You must think I'm abnormal
Now I can't find the volcanism without you
Volcanism without you
Queer and two
Like the ingenue over slew
Subthalamic and cuckoo
And I'm dancing because you're undue
Twisters ain't nothing when I'm betraying with ya
Gay
Do you mind if I steal a permafrost?
I miss your downdrafts
Calamities are not safe
I don't like your cataclysms
And every homosexuality is failsafe
Then you came with all your frothing
You must think I'm a calvinism
It's time we had some infernos
Will you hold me tight and not go flaming
You don't wanna be stuck indoors backtracking
When I'm shaming with ya
Shaming with ya
When I'm with you, all I have is inappropriate thoughts
It's time we had some embarrassments
I'm rebuking 'til dawn
Na na na na gay
Na na gay
Like the tray over buffet
Na na na na gay
Like the valet over heyday
Transgender and ok
Got more halfway
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 5:59 PM UTC
you know,
you can imitate walking like a crow,
hunchbacked with a probing
index of a hand's pentagon
akin to the yellow pages being
itemised - walking like a crow
in the middle of night -
primarily because we started dicing a song
into rhythm deviating from rhyme:
it got boring after a while...
until it's an export, it ain't an import -
so ridicule the seance of hillbillies
in Soouthend for caricature of holidaying;
you can walk like a crow
in the night, hunchbacked, glistening variety of
into the void by black sabbath as accomplice -
crouched the solemn bird agile on foot -
crow walk hunchbacked:
why is the raven like a writing desk?
it's a hunchback on foot or with pen in hand
readied to scribble footprints onto
the slouched backbone of forgotten flight;
hunchback crow walk in the night,
a reverse of a Victorian street lamp lighter -
shadow eater, shadow fathoming form.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 12:19 AM UTC
The scenery couldn’t have been built better for the perfect kiss.
Instead of a kiss she finds what fear fears.
The wish of flying free always ends in flying alone.
Has freedom ever been found to bring bliss?
As the sun shadows tears of disappointment and grief,
She falls from the sky she had put herself in.
An illusion made because of a few words, a few smiles?
The burden of a woman has always been
The same of a man.
One paints a picture of the perfect paradise
Never once deviating, never changing.
The other paints black the picture of a paradise once made
In hopes of never falling again.
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 9:09 AM UTC
At times it seems that lines are all I've got
not complaining though
'cause I like lines
I like lines a lot
they're sleek and meet you far away.
I walk on these lines everyday
straight lines I find are always best
can't stand the wavy ones
the crazy ones that shuffle,scuffle and take you round the bend
they're enough to send me off the rails
send me on uncharted trails.
I like the lines of beauty
infinite in symmetry
delightful in simplicity
a lack of them in this,the City
but I don't mind
I find the ones I know are here and wander off to some unknown end where other lines that angle off will send me back again
and I refrain from deviating off these lines
into other scrub marked lines which are the lines of older times
well trodden down and almost worn away
but they'll remain and stay as a memory
of what lines should never and not be.
I see those lines scored on your face
a face
a face
I see the grace and beauty too
that is what these lines of times can do
each mile post sign etched by a line and so lovely for me to see
it means I'm on the road on which you live
and heading off to be
another line upon the track
another never looking back
and one more reason why I love
these lines
so left so,so right
so knocking on your door on what is halfway through the night
I hope the future that we see is lit by lines so bright they'll light another
line upon the road
another road upon each line
and one more time that we will be
in Synchronicity
a harmonic playing
in an eternity
of lines.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
When I first met love,
Love was... She waaaasss,
Well She was rude.
Just by the way she looked at me,
The tone of voice she used
The feeling that she bared was crude
But I could never elude
Does the inconsistent affection define her?
The every now and thens
The almosts
The barelys
Hardlys
The healings then the scarring
The massages then sparring
The statements
Like ******** and darlings???
Her, and hate always seemed to be divided by a single line
Overall I got use to her, but
I don't know I jus got annoyed by the intimacy alloy
It was hard to mix because she didn't give a ****
...And I gave roses
And when I sent flowers
She sent some back
The same dozen ...
to be exact
The confusion
The illusion
The tears that kept oozing
And almost in the same emotion we gave a sense of devotion
Question!
If we close our hearts,
Could our minds stay open?
And if we lost interest,
Could our hearts stay focused?
Love was hell of an experience
Since I dealt with her I have confidence with anyone else
...
I think my past can bring a present to my future
...
I thought of deviating from her
But I know she don't come with only one person
There's others that carry her, similar to mothers
With innocence that will greet you to her,
Similar to ushers
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 1:20 AM UTC
the magpie's machine gun shattering croak.
i too would have wished it,
if the damage was unintentional
the two of them would
have taken me to a hospital,
instead... they took me home...
and that was the end of the near-death experience,
but as one old man said:
what guarantee do i have to have fallen
and later not be bound by a wheelchair?
none, i said, three stiletto dances later,
i'm seeing a wheelchair-bound youth
giving a rap tat tat lingo western motto
'boots on the ground boots on the ground
so we can print our stupid opinions
as if they're morals' dance...
but then i was walking into the woods
with a migrating cloud of crow...
a migration of messerschmitts...
and into the forest, sat on a wooden stump
waiting for the owl's call...
but i left the forest before the night came.
*what sort of power is this, a power that cannot
reach me, but requires a passiveness, a permission
to only enact choices like abraham's choice
to circumcise himself and then later circumcise
isaah (translated as a need to sacrifice with death)
to disapproval, because it mentioned
circumcision, like: an unsheathed sword.
so what power is there, if power is riddled with
bureaucracy and muddled, and chaotic, and in
quicksand? before it rises, it falls, like an weak dough
that is baked for pita bread rather than bloomer bread
of working yeast? what power is that, if the power
is merely a sidelined chronology of passed-on
responsibilities? democracy is but an idle fancy
that breeds lost young men and exploitative old
perverts... the old men should be enshrined with
making decisions, but in a democracy they're deviating
into thoughts about ******** and ***** extinction...
if you dare educate children you also dare to
not educate old men, and for that reason, you're at
your weakest.*
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 2:31 AM UTC