"discombobulating" poems
I was like every other scientist
for love to me was just
a neural reaction to a certain
stimulus presented to an individual,
just a hormonal response of a person
to a certain situation laid out to them
Like a configuration of ****** muscle
tissue of one results to an increase
of serotonin, dopamine, and for some,
oxytocin of another
At times, one would affiliate this
****** muscle configuration
to that of pentahydroxyhexanal (sugar)
and that was discombobulating
I could not understand how
a smile becomes sweet
and yet at that moment
when I saw you smile
I immediately understood
that science
science cannot explain this
This feeling I have when I see you
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
Someone turned off the moon
I searched high and low
Someone stole the moon out of the sky
How? is what I want to know
It was a funny feeling, to look up that night
To see the night light gone
A magic ladder that reached the heavens
The stars couldn't sing their song
Someone took the moon and ran
Snatched it without a sound
It was a very discombobulating night
Without the moon around
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC
Joe wants to know
how'm I doing?
an innocuous query,
little can he know,
bye bye is my merry,
marooned on a skerry,
noxious fumes in the aerie,
currently inhabiting my foreheady,
worry waves, rolling thunderous tides,
have myself beside
thus the answer to your toll,
something bad, on me, got a hold
Joe,
life is,
more than a tad
concerting
concerting?
surely you meant
converging, or perhaps,
concatenating, or concaving?
discombobulating, or more likely,
plain ole disconcerting?
indeed, all of the above,
fit like a glove,
but best combinated in steaming mug of
concerting
"to contrive or arrange by agreement: to plan; devise"
the world is secret contriving,
the world is secret devising,
a plan for my demising,
forces are concerting re me...
most concerning,
as trends converging,
concave hollow chains clinking,
a concatenating chorus
voicing their displeasure,
at my happy existence,
which now gone,
its loss, wept for, in great measure
life dissing me, in a manner
concerting and dis-concerting,
my composure,
decomposing,
the ides of depression,
hip hop discombob-
(undu)lating throb
but then again,
what's in a word,
what's in a rhyme,
jes that old timey R&B;,
rhyming and blues,
of a verbal kind
so, Joe, how'm I doing?
now that you are knowing,
as men of distinguished letters,
students of history,
part time poets,
Your Reply
must only be:
"Oh no, Natty,
say it ain't so"
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC
naive and stoic and heartless
nothing but a mess
stressed and melancholic
depressed and psychedelic
but how this is discombobulating
once so happy now i'm grieving
like an owner losing a puppy
a mother losing her baby
only that i didn't lose anything
just my sanity
-djs
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
Have you ever been
pulled over by the culture
police?
I know this culture cop
who loves pulling people
over for self-expression.
He'll wait till you break
into color, and cut you
off at your most emphatic.
He'll **** burp, scoff--
master craft a discombobulating
smack to your mouth.
He thinks most expression pins
you down to obviousness.
So by definition a lack of expression,
or stifled expression, means
you're not being obvious.
Therefore tolerable, but being obvious, or not being obvious is still
being, trying--expressly.
Watchdog of his own passive-agression, his cagey brooding activated by voices in excitation
of uniqueness.
He's living hard between the lines,
unable to read so to speak, as sing!
My mouthy mute carbon copy
of repression, I'm so sorry--truly.
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 10:42 AM UTC
I am a pretender.
Looking through a window that is slightly open,
so that a breeze winds in
with gathered memories
of subliminal pain.
And I'm lost
partially wandering on a plot of unknown sand.
With the sun no longer reflecting,
refraction.
A reddening burn
and a quickened pulse
aching *****
and held breath.
I know where I am.
I am a fake.
But I cannot go through with it.
If I do not in the "real,"
why lie online?
Why hide myself
and view myself
criticize myself in comments with names that aren't mine,
not even who I want to be?
Why do I ignore myself,
and let fade into lingo.
Because I am human
and I don't want you to know me.
Even when I want you to feel,
I want you to share this moment with me.
And that is why
I post these
discombobulating pieces of no reckoning,
non-entertaing, ultimate **** "poems."
Because I want you to understand this
me
in this instant.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
*Last night was hard for everyone, for all of us
The moon noticed your obvious absence and lit bright trying to trace you from every corner of the universe
the stars were sad and they tried so hard to blink back their tears
even the nimbus clouds detected the heartbreaking melancholy
and tried to blanket them from the chilling cold of solitude
but the twinkling stars still struggled to peep through
the blanket cast between them and your absence
like little children afraid of the dark until the clouds gave up
for even they ,no matter how strong they pretended to be
the weight of despondence got the better of them
and they subsequently expressed their pain in burdened tears of rain
the roof tried to hold the tears from my unconscious sight
but my ears sadly caught the pattering sobs
darkness whispered some advise but my ears were too sad to hear
and my brain numbed by the scintillating thoughts about you
I tried to kick out the emptiness through listening to the radio
but my fingers were too frozen and weak to turn the ****
so I gave up and just sat quietly inside the net listening to a silence
whose eloquence was labyrinthine and discombobulating
because weaved within mosquitoes did their best to sing me a lullaby
but in anger I violently swatted as many and as many did die
it still was hell hot with my limpid Heart ice cold
yet I still hoped against all odds you would appear
I waited for you like Santa waiting for Christmas,
like anxious Jews waiting for the coming Messiah,
like the Mediterranean sea patiently waits for waters of the Nile,
like a Groom waits for his Bride as she walks across the isle,
I waited for you like a lass waiting for a Telenovela...
or a staunch catholic waiting for a positive eventuality to his Novena,
I waited like the minute hand waits for the second hand of the clock
like the dull pulse of the heart waits to happen after the loud one...
I waited for you like an insomniac waiting for sleep,
sadly sleep never came... so I gave up to wait for the next day
like the invisible sun through a night knowing in the dawn my voice
might reach you like beautiful rays and whisper
to the far that is near how I wish you were here
in a message right into your small pretty ears
I missed you like a baby misses its mother,desperately and in tears*
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 1:43 PM UTC
I think I write best when my heart is physically sound and emotionally unreceptive.
That's when my heart usually drifts, carried by winds of anger,
anxiousness,
bitterness,
callousness,
And more discombobulating feelings like emptiness.
...it drifts until it lands on the zenith of either apathy or peace.
And I write.
Feb 11, 2021
Feb 11, 2021 at 6:10 AM UTC
black crushed pupil tipping at its
peak with a mild sheen
discombobulating words
to their own contained madnesses
putting an apostrophe
on everything
it lays sight on
a salvage of disrupted vision
wrings true wind blowing through
the white steel of dangerous contraption
in the hand and takes to leaping
of faith, a restless voyage:
a volute image lightheaded
still with the passing to and from—
nomadic breath still splendidly
penetrating through all sound
and silence and words
like fire wily without intent,
the moon. only there. without a name.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
im so tired of reading bad poetry worn out cliches with rhymes that doesnt remotely match meters that just drop off out of nowhere leaving you wondering why it was written at all the me me me i i i you dont understand what ive been through as if Your the only one who has had trauma themes that do Not make A lick of sense whatsoever or the ones where how many times can you say the same **** thing over and over and over again its just too long then there's the hole misspelling of words where the Writer is either to frikken lazy to proof read or just trying to be and and i use this word loosely creative poor grammar with no punctuation or capitalisation leaving you out to figure what the hell is actually meant and let us not forget the egregious use of big words discombobulating the reader in an inefficacious attempt to impress and by the way shakespeare is dead so the thee thus thou shant be missed there are a few presumed outcomes of you reading this either a comment below detailing your egotistical outrage of what has been written with what i am sure is to be a riveting display of your distain with private conversations with others on the pompous *** who wrote it and how you gave him a piece of your mind and in what manner you told him or a passive aggressive poem written in a not so discreet manner in which you will feel better about yourself but all the while thinking you should have said more then there is the ones that in their im not like that attitude will refrain from any discussion on the matter so as to prove a point as what has been said will stick in their craw for quite some time for those who have continued reading i would like to thank you for your time and let it be known that this piece has been penned deliberately so as the aforementioned statements concerning poetry are actually in fact observations of my own written works as many of you know as writers we are our own worse critics and with that being said if a poem is to incite emotions then i do believe it has done just that
Jul 18, 2022
Jul 18, 2022 at 1:27 PM UTC
it wasn't writer's block, i decided,
not even my lack of ideas can
steer me away from producing
something, anything
my skill to make sense
of everything through written texts
that even the most discombobulating
thoughts and emotions and anxiety
has almost never failed to be presented
out for me, like my fingers
have their minds of their own
and i'm terrified that if i write
it'll make it jarringly clear
that what i felt
three years ago
are resurfacing again,
just when I finally thought I'm okay
but my god,
my fingers
just can't stop writing
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
Journey…by Jessie 11/05
Entangled emotions, ball of string
End, connected to the beginning
Knots throughout
Super highway of events; create the maze of discombobulating
Weaving in and out of it’s self; until there is no trace of either end
One day I will attempt to unravel this sphere of confusion
This mass of braded calamities and happenstances
Then I will lay the line with all of its imperfections and knotted recollections
Straight and true as any crimp line can look
Attempting to move forward… I walk the line back
One step at a time
Two steps in
I look at the line
My eyes follow the thin strand as it leads away
Sharpen clarity no more as it fades into the distance
Paralyzed to move
Fearful of what transgressions may be found
Quickened pulse, courage summoned
One more step to truth
One more step to reconciliation
One more step to peace
Hardest journey taken
Deep within one’s self
Recoiled line, remembers shape
Journey never done
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 2:28 PM UTC
Here is a poem I composed for you,
Like the ripples in the laces when I tie my shoes.
Discombobulating bobbleheads,
The knobby knuckles,
The seat belt buckle.
Introspeculating lobby beds.
The bumps in the road were on my head,
Disconnecting me from the thread.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 1:04 AM UTC
Sitting, watching, waiting,
the waves roll by
But a haze in the sky,
bags like jellyfish, patches like whales,
accumulating, discombobulating,
But a haze in the sky,
choking, killing,
maiming the sea,
slaughtering by the dozens,
But a haze in the sky,
simple to do,
hard to fix,
but a mere crew
could do the tricks,
But a haze in the sky,
Something, I fear,
could **** the earth,
the tumbling mirth,
and all that is here,
Something, I fear,
Alas,
But a haze in the sky
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
Working I hear,
"If I knew then, what I know now"
Women were talking near.
I continued to work,
Thought 'wow'
What if I did know more in the past.
Surely I wouldn't ever fall last.
But the last place offers the most room to grow,
Would life be so much better in 1st place?
I know 'no'.
The compromise of pain and gain,
The character growth of which my Dad so highly spoke,
And for the longest time I thought a joke.
A joke it was not.
A lady said something that caught my ear,
Made me wonder if I'd be better off here, or in a past with what I know currently,
And to answer this question accordingly I wish for so fervently.
My answer to such a discombobulating query was this.
This not as a solution, but an explored response.
I answer not today, nor tomorrow,
But yesterday my answer shall lay,
And if that makes sense not, then hey,
Ask me on a yesterday when I already know for today.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC
Discombobulating eerie day
left me asking on some matter.
Like how the unreachable sky is so gray
even if the day is really a flatter.
Far-stretched lines I drew
in a fine piece of silky flat.
I smell the essence of tingling blue
creeping on the edges where I sat.
Far-flung hopes he seek
with different approach and time.
Ended well in a mountain peak
gushing he came to be, he waited to climb.
Discombobulating ambiance
in the room somehow disturbs.
Prepares the writer into dalliance
so he forgotten all the verbs.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 9:23 AM UTC