"disastrously" poems
Too long this rot has run its course, too much the damage done
When men deflect acknowledged glance, they know that wrong has won.
Across this land and far afield the wrongness seeps within
And pride becomes a memory through distant halls of spin.
How can we bow to tyranny, how can we shy away
From that which causes eyes to slide.... and coaxes will to sway?
To tolerate the bombast, the bullying, the lies
Succumbing to a hopelessness, which, both we despise.
Division in the nation, uproar in between
A man and wife’s contention-ness beyond what should be seen
Brothers loathing brothers, silence in the room
Where a word uttered wrongly can erupt to screaming soon.
Allies left in tatters, trust is cut to shards
Tariffs injudiciously, imposed to **** the cards.
International uproar, industry in strife
Teetering disastrously when NATO flees the knife.
Putin sits and rubs his hands, hilarious the show
Disorder and disharmony to lubricate his glow.
Beijing sits inscrutably, always opportune
Manoeuvring judiciously, in place, to call the tune.
America, the isolate, sails away to sea
Blondini, at the helm, wears smirk indulgently.
M.
The White House
HAMILTON NZ
12th July 2018
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
Replaying a riff four times perfectly
One missed fret and the entire day ends disastrously
Replaying moments of kindness and warmth
To overcome the feverish idea that I hold no heart
Every fourth step, threes end in ******
Maimed images constantly creep
This subconscious ludovico technique
These thoughts come and go in no particular order
A seat at the table and a serviette on my lap
What if I leapt out my chair and suddenly attacked?
What if I aimed the knife towards my hand?
I constantly question if that’s who I am
I will have a picnic with her today, all joy and cheer
When these intrusive thoughts will inexplicably get near
And terrorize my attitude as well as my image
Disassociating with a perplexed and horrified visage
I’m so incredibly tired of existing
A cruel and ironic fate
I’ve missed out on so many opportunities
All because of this miserable headspace
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC
You call me
courageous,
I who grew up
gnawing on books,
as some kids
gnaw
on bubble gum,
who married disastrously
not once
but three times,
yet have a lovely daughter
I would not undo
for all the dope
in California.
Fear was my element,
fear my contagion.
I swam in it
till I became
immune.
The plane takes off
& I laugh aloud.
Call me courageous.
I am still alive.
2.4k
Colorful worlds we live in
Ungrateful ones too.
Disastrously ones from the heart
But that really ain't my fault
I'm sorry, I just want to say sorry
For being me. For being ridiculous.
For being everything
That's wrong with me.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
What are we to make of one lifetime? Any given lifetime? Is there a goal for everyone? If there is, clearly each goal is not necessarily the same as all the others, though it might be the same, or at least similar to, one or more than one. If there is no goal to any of them, then what is the reason we live? That would be nihilism. Why, in fact, has the human race propagated for untold millennia? In some respects, human life has evolved progressively positively, but in many other respects, it has devolved disastrously. The way each one of us has lived our lives is a function, I believe, of whether we were loved enough, if at all. If we live a loveless life from conception onward, we wind up unconsciously compensating for the emotional dearth we have suffered by accruing wealth, achieving fame, aggrandizing power. If we look at the 3,400 years of recorded history, there have been exponential advances in warfare, but humanistically relatively few by comparison. As of 2023, there are 10,000 diseases that can and do afflict us, but only 500 cures for the ones to which we fall victim. We have been fighting countless wars against our fellow man and killing millions and millions and millions of them, but discovering an exiguous number of cures for illnesses that often **** us. Why this gross, this grotesque, disparity? And we now find ourselves on the cusp of extinction from catastrophic climate change and the existential threat of nuclear holocaust. So, are we here on Earth simply and inexorably to destroy it and all its living creations? Or are we going to have soon enough a worldwide epiphany: to begin and never stop realizing that first we all need to be loved to love others; that there is but one land, one sea, one sky, one people; that the boundaries that now divides us are not on maps, but in out minds and hearts; that while we live on a small planet, it is big enough for all of us if only we are first loved so we can then love all others.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jul 22, 2023
Jul 22, 2023 at 12:59 AM UTC
The Poseidonians forgot the Greek language
after so many centuries of mingling
with Tyrrhenians, Latins, and other foreigners.
The only thing surviving from their ancestors
was a Greek festival, with beautiful rites,
with lyres and flutes, contests and wreaths.
And it was their habit toward the festival's end
to tell each other about their ancient customs
and once again to speak Greek names
that only few of them still recognized.
And so their festival always had a melancholy ending
because they remebered that they too were Greeks,
they too once upon a time were citizens of Magna Graecia;
and how low they'd fallen now, what they'd become,
living and speaking like barbarians,
cut off so disastrously from the Greek way of life.
1.3k
An albatross around my neck
Carrying my guilt my burden
O, am I yet a wreck?
Blame me, blame me!
For I am in fault
Mistaken disastrously!
My luck my love have abandoned me
Left all alone, deserted
Stranded and unwanted by many
Everywhere there's chance! There's chance!
To change to live for blessings
There's chance! A chance for my penance!
Yet all that surrounds me
Full of bliss and love and happiness
But I still cannot have a taste of any
My biggest sin still lingers here
Haunting me
Filling me with fear!
Taking its revenge on me
One by one leaving its foot marks
Slowly but surely, successfully!
O dear, o dear heavens!
Where am I to find hope?
Have I been completely forsaken?
O dear heavens, hear me out!
I am not deserving but please oh please
Do I have to scream, yell, or shout?
Please say, what am I to do?
Put entity back to where it used to be
Or even sacrifice myself for thee?
-djs
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
The fluorescent fish, much adulated is now terribly bored,
it's ornamental existence and the excessive attention received
soon turned to unbearable hassle and made him reckless,
seeks adventure in shallow waters he knows danger sure lurks.
A juicy bait, in fact an artistically concealed deceit,she had spun
is lowered by her from the fishing rod she wields, when near water
her eyes gleam seeing the painted fish, obviously an easy catch,
breaking the barrier of water his and her eyes disastrously meet,
he reads the meaning of her hard- sold deceit as love; perfect!
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
I wish I could say that I told you I was fragile,
that the last boy who loved me left without a goodbye,
and that in the midst of trying to bring him back home
I realized I was nothing but glass and ended up falling to the floor,
left cracked and scattered.
I thought you were the broom that could sweep me back together,
but you only made a path so that you could walk by unharmed;
you left the swept up pieces in the dust pan,
I didn't know you'd soon throw them away.
There's little pieces of me still sliding around on the wooden floor,
I should've known you wouldn't try to put me back together.
I wish I could say I warned you of my sharp edges
and the amount of tears I've accumulated,
but you saw the flowers I held,
and I didn't think much of the dirt;
nor did I ever think you'd create more weight.
You watered the flowers so much they drowned,
and you left them to wilt; you left me overflowing.
I wish I told you to leave before breaking me again,
I guess I forgot.
But mosaics are just pieces of broken glass,
and by breaking me you've only made it easier
for the next person to find me more disastrously beautiful.
(NJ2014) © All Rights Reserved.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
You wore socks to bed- knowing it irked me.
Faced me while we slept- breathing your stinky breath in my face was a definite, guaranteed.
You loitered as I changed always trying to cop a feel- ignoring my agitated pleas.
You watched your wrist- telling me I’m late; of course, I forever disagreed.
Invited yourself to my TV time- talking to me as if I was free.
Told me I was beautiful; each and every day- annoyingly, times three.
Sometimes you had an ‘I’m the king’ attitude, and I was just your sidekick wannabe.
Sadly, I still wash all of your socks each and every week.
I face the fan as I sleep, so it dries my tear’s wet streaks.
I continuously pause while getting dressed- waiting to hear you make the floorboards creak.
I put on my makeup extra slow anxiously anticipating your frustrated shriek.
I turn up the TV’s volume hoping you’ll come interrupt to speak.
Waiting for your mushy compliments as I check the mirror at my womanly physique.
I made you a personalized crown, so you could be a king that’s honored and chic.
But silence and heartbreak are all that is left here to tweak.
You’ve departed this world suddenly, leaving my life confusing and disastrously bleak.
Now, your once irritating traits have become the only thing that my broken heart desperately seeks.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
Kissed collarbones
Bruised lips
You told me about the gifts you had for me
(I'll keep everyone)
The love letter written on the back of a napkin
We have been in love more ways than there are words to describe:
Passionately
Bitterly
Yearningly
Miserably
Tenderly
Disastrously
Continuously
No matter how many times we pull apart
The elastic bands around our hearts snap us back together
High force collisions always end spectacularly
You've given me countless gifts
And I'll keep them
forever
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
I have several things left to pack:
First, the old grey jumper.
Second, a dusty photo album.
Third, that China plate from the kitchen.
Moving through to the hallway,
I swivel on the spot.
The cat eyes me from the stairs,
Swishing his tail left to right.
I gesture to him: In childlike voice
"Don't worry I won't be leaving you".
Boxes laid at my feet, I fumble about.
What a life;
You spend most of it collecting junk;
And then you realise,
What an earth are you going to do with it all?
Leave it behind?
Chuck it away?
Chuck it away, leave it behind?
A disastrously difficult decision!
We are all sentimental someway.
The smell of cooked beef wafted from the kitchen.
Ah, home cooked meals.
I suppose it'll be takeaways soon.
Until we've settled in of course.
It's really real now isn't it?
Like a punch of reality,
Slapping you in the face.
Mixed emotions,
A bit like Sunday: You enjoy it but know that Mondays coming.
Gently, I stroked my cat.
Amongst the purring:
There came a sudden realisation,
That I had not started my list yet.
Mar 31, 2021
Mar 31, 2021 at 1:05 PM UTC
Under a new night sky,
Wondering if my past is a life that I didn't let die,
Or a reason to remind me how to feel alive,
Is it the gear that lets me drive,
Or is it a parking brake,
A new night sky,
With the same twinkle,
A new cup and different wrinkles,
Still the goofy smile,
And the anticlimactic trial,
That the jury is still oot,
Long days are long days,
And what they say are still what they says,
The night sky hasn't changed,
And the writing still feels a little deranged,
It's still the past stars,
And the flashing lights of karaoke bars,
Just more cowboy hats,
I'm still adjusting to my same night sky,
And the past is a story that is a disastrously beautiful lie,
That I didn't let die,
Because my future depends on it
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 3:13 AM UTC
I'm not sure who to address this letter to, myself or my ex lover...
I've always had this love affair with self destruction. As if life wasn't already difficult enough, I constantly sought out my own blend of vices and chaos to add to the mix. Perhaps something inside me has always been beautifully broken, disastrously unrepairable; so I've endlessly searched for things, places, and people that either were damaged themselves or caused further destruction. It made me feel closer to normal.
Every relationship I had was one I knew was doomed from the beginning. Yet, I chased after them anyway, running after the pain I knew would come. It was almost as if there was a little red button, above certain people or right before I did something incredibly stupid, that screamed and beeped and flashed "DO NOT TOUCH. MUTUAL DESTRUCTION ENSURED." Obviously, I always pressed the button.
While I admit I have caused more people undeserved pain than I care to think about, I should clarify it was never about hurting you. I think somehow I innately understood whatever I was about to do would blow up in my face, send shrapnel ripping through my already wrecked body; and that was what I craved. I was and am addicted to destruction.
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
My desire to ****
Makes me feel so ill
That i wanna jump off a hill
Or inject saxitoxin
Im my skin
'Till i fall on my chin
I'm sitting here in the attic
Feeling disastrously pathetic
Writing on a piece of paper
Maybe ,
I should just shove this pen in my throat later
will it be painful ?
Or i'd rather ask
If it'll be successful ?
To tear me
And clear me
Do you hear me ?
What is this voice inside little Fin ?
That's telling him to commit a sin
Poor Fin , he thinks he's possessed
But it's just time to unveil the desires that were oppressed
Grab the knife and hold the gun
Let's go out and have fun
Listen to some cries and screams
That's music in our ears
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
What are we to make of one lifetime? Any given lifetime. Is there a goal for everyone? If there is, clearly each goal is not necessarily the same as all the others, though it might be the same, or at least similar to, one or more than one. If there is no goal to any of them, then what is the reason we live? That would be nihilism. Why, in fact, has the human race proagated for untold millennia? In some respects, human life has evolved progressively positively, but in many other respects, it has devolved disastrously. The way each one of us has lived our lives is a function, I believe, of whether we were loved enough, if at all. If we live a loveless life from conception onward, we wind up unconsciously compensating for the emotional dearth we have suffered by accruing wealth, achieving fame, aggrandizing power. If we look at the 3,400 years of recorded history, there have been exponential advances in warfare, but humanistically relatively few by comparison. As of 2021, there are 10,000 diseases that can and do afflict us, but only 500 cures for the ones to which we fall victim.. We have been fighting countless wars against our fellow man and killing millions and millions and millions of them, but discovering an exiguous number of cures for illnesses that often **** us. Why this gross, this grotesque, disparity? And we now find ourselves on the cusp of extinction from catastrophic climate change and the existential threat of nuclear holocaust. So, are we here on Earth simply and inexorably to destroy it and all its living creations? Or are we going to have soon enough a worldwide epiphany: to begin and never stop realizing that first we all need to be loved to love others; that there is but one land, one sea, one sky, one people; that the boundaries that now divides us are not on maps, but in out minds and hearts; that while we live on a small planet, it is big enough for all of us if only we are first loved so we can then love all others.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 1:10 PM UTC
_1 - The action of killing oneself intentionally_
And every moment that I spend thinking about it
The more scared I become of my own power
To take
To stop
To cease to exist
New lives begin
Every second
I’m not exactly
A great loss
_2 - A course of action which is disastrously damaging to oneself or one's interests_
My whole life has been
Suicide
So carefully planned out
The most elaborate note
In every pen stroke
In drawings aged 5
Red marker symbolic
Of the future
I had barely begun
A self destructive path
Had been forged
Long before
I could even hold a pen
_3 - A running drill consisting of a sprint to a set point and back to the start, immediately followed by additional sprints of lengthening distances._
After a sprint
Your muscles give up
I think
I must
Be more unfit
Than most
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 7:42 AM UTC
Slowly I shift thoughts as I shed tears,signs of sorrow...comfortable in your present consciousness you pray for today into the night..but I weep for tomorrow..deep into deaths dimensional core disastrously I burrow...to escape this hell
..you knew me well..broken trust broken arms I let go I hit the ground..thought you had me..you weren't around..deep inside the dark depths of desolate despair I drown..lonely wanting to be happy but unwilling to smile I frown..you picked me up,we toured the town..memorable moments but what goes up must come down...now I've fallen wingless Angel sending prayers above..hoping so hard to just fall in love..broken hearts broken dreams..I hear heaven calling,it sounds like screams..now back to bed,back to the girl of my dreams
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
The intricacies of english literacy are so hard to see in the spaces that leave traces and reverberate through our eye's glazes.
It's so hard for me to think of three or more reasons to love free. You see, I once had a heart filled with glee for thee then one day I realized it was all just a fallacy.
I write randomly as my fingers pace and leave no trace of logical thought. As if not wanting to leave a maze because of its inherent beauty as you race through and hope to be lost for days.
And all I wanted to talk about in the beginning of it all was about the satisfaction that is sporadic interaction with your keys to create this chemically grammatical calamity, as if planned to be so disastrously disorganized; resembling the unplanned beauty of nature itself.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
I'm disastrously in love with...
Your eyes
Your touch
Your smile
Your smell
Your hands
Your taste
Your embrace
Your company
Your thoughtfulness
I'm disastrously in love with all of you!
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
Pray for us now and at the hour of our birth
pray for us now
rebirth
Dig up my bones for
I roll in the grave,
Use them wisely, build a morbid mausoleum,
An elegy to the macabre.
A world that's a waste land pray for hope to be saved,
From swaddled in a cradle to
running reckless disastrously spinning his fable,
Echoed down for years to come
A story constantly revised yet forever left undone.
Eliot your nightmare smiles through this
Faded century,
Hollow men we are
Dead men lost in rat's alley
Where we lost our bones to
A false God named Tech springing from a silicon valley.
Getting through time without a grey hair
I understand love lost its way in the watery space
somewhere between Vega and Altair
Shantih. Hours Hours Hours
Pray Hours Hours
for Hours
me
now
and
at
my
death
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 5:48 PM UTC
I am disastrously happy with your love and affection
And your random dancing lights me up inside
Your company is irreplaceable
I wouldn't want anyone else by my side
You are an amazing lover
And a true friend
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
i'd show you
the inside of my mind
if not for the fear that you'd take a
wrong turn;
you'd never remember
how to get back.
think,
my friend,
how disastrously,
marvelously
splendid
it would be to get
lost
in such a place.
you'd reach out to catch a
thought
and it would disappear underneath your
fingertips.
you'd be
all
mine.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 4:34 AM UTC
I'm just tired, you know?
Boxed in, believing in "no"
The world don't listen when i say go
but wants to go faster when i say slow.
this rhyme seems tired already
four lines in...
i wanted to be meaningful
but im disastrously unravelling
a beautiful mess of a metaphor
for the state i feel stuck in
hoping for some life
to come out of death
everything has slowed down
i cant seem to see past scarred eyes
that see no more
than tarnished memories
i started out with purpose
but its just no..
you know?
and could bes that'll never be.
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 6:26 PM UTC
For the Picasso-trees as I soar by,
The blurring edges under a new sky
And feeling as though I could fly
I could just float away and drift
Or dissipate as summer mist;
Oh, what kind of existence is this?
Only content when on the run,
A craving for a different sun
To light my walk, I am one
Who is only happy while moving
Seeing, exploring, and using
Travel to convince me I’m not losing
They call it wanderlust, but
For me it’s deeper: this strange love
Of escapism, forever on and up
Will leave no hollowed out space
For me to disastrously contemplate
The oblivion echoed in my face
If I fill my days with new sights
I can ignore my night-dark eyes
And somehow sidestep the fight
To stay alive, to ignore their call;
Distraction is louder than the fall,
I am only safe in unfamiliar walls
Stand still too long and people will
Learn my darkness, the pain that fills
My heart and they will want to ****
The hollow ghost, the shadow-girl
So I keep moving around the world
For safety, will I ever learn
To be still, silent and proud
Without voices tearing me down?
Or the thought I should do it now?
So I go in search of new destinations
Lose myself in some exploration
Try to **** my mind with fascination
I’ve been here for far too long
I need to wander, let me move on
Before my soul sings its swan song
I’ve used up all the distraction here
This is the cave, the lair of fear
And my nights are filled with spiritless tears
I seek something new, some unknown;
A perhaps that could finally bring me home
Or maybe I just don’t want to be alone
So with music, and books, and trains
And friends I make just for the day
I somehow push on, the only way
I know to make this seem worthwhile
Is to keep tracking the miles
And cities, behind my glossy smile
Is desperation and a need to survive
Although daily I long to die,
I am wandering, to stay alive.
© Tara India
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC