"discombobulation" poems
The amount of days I've been given have been kind, but each day rather cruel
Trying to lift the thumb off my back of the looming stresses that rule
It could be me again and this is not the end, if fact it probably is
So before I unleash my problems, swear to mind your business
I would be lying if I said I wanted this day to last a forever
Because I found myself one forever short once we weren't together
I've said my piece so many times the puzzle is almost complete
So I've decided it's time to get off my knees and back onto my feet
I've fallen so much I keep Flintstones band-aids close at hand
My heart sewn to my sleeve for only you, which I've yet to understand
You unscrewed the machine that was me and left the parts on the floor
And I'm pretty sure I won't work just right anymore
Fading is the dynasty of what we labeled our so-called "love"
Like sticking my foot inside my sock at night to find it's a glove
The discombobulation is so overwhelming, I think the ocean is jealous
Could I start swimming now or is that being too over-zealous
Life is hard and the people crammed in it tend to make it worse
At times I tell myself it to cry, look to the sky, and curse
But there's a tune in my mind that won't seem to shut up from that one song
Telling me life is a ride, kid: grieve, learn, burn, and move on
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
Reading,
Reading you,
Reading me:
Symphonic emotional intelligence,
Words like a violinist.
I carry them with me
Inside my mind applying reality,
The unreality passsing out of me.
The poems speak like see through natures,
The clarity of my discombobulation.
You all become real.
Archives of the souls
Instantaneous connection
Closer than
Touch:
Your words resonance with every
Fiber of my being.
Your words
Invent more words,
Your emotions tie
The world's shoestrings,
The experience shared
Is a reality of musical theatre
And it kills the silence,
The silence of the mind.
Your words are movement,
Be it from a past,
The metaphysical dance,
A kiss of gentle air,
The idea is a life living
Recovering from the enigmatic plague
Of ignorance.
Though I see the bird sing
My heart stops when it I hear it
Through your words;
Connectivity.
Reading is not reading,
It is saying what your silence says,
Art becoming life in an echo of YOU.
The words that I understand:
Yes, the pain is also a gesture of reality,
It lets us know it was real,
Your tears,
Your secrets,
The murmured past,
And as I read it becomes as the
Sun on morning dew.
Beginnings,
Endings,
You become apart of me,
I become part of you,
Not words
But music in the silence.
And the moment will come
When you hear it too:
The poetry:
Crystalline humanity.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 12:14 PM UTC
All this lifeless air created from migrated diverted array
Shot from wasted uneventful deep rooted motionless fatigue
Squeezed beneath a realm of misguided beliefs
Things mixed and shattered, confused mistaken repeats
Dug from a soul that never eats
All this lifeless air was created by total dismay
From thoughts that creep without light often in the calmest state
Shaking the essence of what purgatory seeks to infiltrate
With masks that always intolerably penetrate
The gateway to a subtle overactive mind grenade
It hits like a brick, it comes out of nowhere
Breathtakingly taking you into its mystical embrace
To another space in a place where nothing feels the same
Only discombobulation and facades of an erratic charade
Leaving your thoughts confused and in an melancholic state
Calmness in your spirit is a lantern burned from the light inside you
It seeps from your pours and glows intensely within your core
Unmasking horrific ramifications that you justified in the past
Leaving your mind free to disseminate thoughts that usually trespass
Recognizing feelings can be often obsolete
The lurking and self loathing of being stuck in between
a domain of migrated air and empathetic domains
Dragging your lifeless air into migrated array
Only erratic melancholy conceives and births total dismay
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
Woke up with children in my mind, wrote two new,
then stumbled on this...
I give this poem to an orchestra leader I know, who understands better than most, that conducting and being surrounded by many, is oft the loneliest task and who knows best the meaning of
"finally, all synchronized in time and space, on a single continuum, within, without and through."
Thanksgiving Day 2011
Through
the picture window,
watching
restless generations,
multitudinous compilations,
children's backyard runnings,
all about, hide n' seek,
uncoordinated coordination,
well calculated randomness,
perfection in its
discombobulation
Within
my bloodstream,
chemical changes,
blow thru my veins,
direction home,
like leaves,
on a November weekend,
windswept from a thousand directions,
endless energy, noise, and commotion,
results of internal tremblings,
the side effects of satisfactions,
in ways I could only dream of...
Without
knowing, nonetheless,
the knowledge rests within,
footage of future days of
quietude and satisfaction,
recalling earlier simplicities,
records recorded somehow
before it happens,
records recorded now and then,
but only for
future consumption.
Harmonies of times,
well deserved,
to be future spent,
now, finally, all synchronized
in time and space,
on a single continuum,
within, without and through.
They say that Einstein erred,
time cannot outrace gravity,
therefore it cannot be
that I have seen the future.
Yet, I know with
unerring certainty,
these truths
posses the gravity,
that thanks,
I have and
will again,
gave,
and will give
The remainders,
the children,
the net of our gains and losses,
within them,
my thanks lives,
without them,
I am lessened,
through them,
I am whole,
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 7:04 AM UTC
I saw it coming a mile away.
I knew it wouldn’t end well,
But I didn’t bother avoiding the wreck.
I only stood in shock,
Engulfed by euphoria,
Feeling as light as a feather.
I was flying
In a warm sunny sky.
And then bam!
Ringing.
Discombobulation.
Searing pain.
And in an instant I felt like I was dying.
Of course I didn’t.
Even after these long months,
My wounds have not fully healed.
And even when they do,
I will be scarred.
This is love.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
My heart is a compass,
guiding me in the direction
I am meant to go.
Only when my path
is STRUCK with the
>>magnetic<<
dIscoMboBulAtiOn
of
<< o u t w a r d >>
opinions, and
s
p
r i n k
l
e
d
with "should"s,
does it become
unclear.
Embrace the journey.
Through struggling,
striving,
and succeeding,
the optimal destination is in reach,
always.
I am there.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
A stint in the darkness of the alleyway called Social Hierarchy.
Taking just a stroll,
The stench of a rat,
I must ignore.
Oh, but it takes a toll on my motor skills.
It takes a toll on my motor skills.
Scored 99 on protective instincts.
1% is a grand difference.
I learned from you.
Oh, I learned from you.
Paradise shifts in my lucid innocence.
Discombobulation as I frantically search for "Heaven" again.
Don't you tear down your wrought iron gates,
The constables are coming.
Don't try to flee,
You wont escape,
The king wants off with your head.
Vision blurring,
Split ends.
Summer hazards of new friends.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
Discombobulation
Snuffing out my insight
Stings of uncertainty clouding my mind
The acidic taste of bitter gasoline rest on my tongue
The scent of brewed turmoil, The sound of whats? And questions ringing in the smoky air
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 10:53 PM UTC
*A strange yellow smile draws a wired look on her face
she tells him in a crude whisper, that a beast stalks her
in her discombobulation, he detects the withering.
a desperate flower sometimes mysteriously invites
a flower forced to bloom before her time, was her
only in the closed vault inside her chamber is it's secret,
her hands strongly grips him, not letting him leave her
and he could feel the presence of the beast then and there.
Then, little by little her grip becomes cold, lets his hands free
she slips in to a trance, body gets stiff like a log.*
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Beclouded by your thoughts
I'm sitted in the darkness of love
Should I go
Or should I not ?
This state of discombobulation
Keeps me wandering with no destination
I try to obliviate
But my heart still aches
It bleeds like an uncontrollable river flow that has no terminus
Now its just me..no "us"
The truth of our love is now false
I'm lost
Trying to find my way out of depression
I scream for help
No one hears
Its just the voices in my head
But none seems to be yours
Now buried and gone is my trust
When you were needed, you never showed up
Well ,I guess your time is up
And my love is finally lost .
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 5:36 AM UTC
I sat in the empty bathtub
thinking maybe if fate
was willing to fill me up
this tub would be filled with sorrow.
I had no motive nor discombobulation.
I just wanted to feel the cold cast iron,
cool down my inferno state
but it was so weird how it kept me at ease.
I am just trying to figure out my life, me or even better my future.
I sat in the empty bathtub filled with mixed feelings within that kept me wondering why.
I sat in the empty bathtub to deal with myself, little did I know I'm empty.
It's so surreal.
Written by :Leechle ❤️
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 4:22 PM UTC
Back at it
Like
A crack addict
White *****
**** that shit's morbid.
These stereotypes, I ain't for em
& honestly I'm getting sick of talm bout race
Cause I know I'm the fastest
But you rigged it babe
acting like you down for me
Saying, that ****** is a clown for me
Modern
Day
Slavery
My libido is not your entertainment
But it is
& that's all I am to you
*** appeal
Strong broad shoulders
Smooth brown skin
Reflecting the sun
You just wanna soak it in
This 12 inch sacred ****
* * *
Energy Theif
Preying on the weak
-POST-
-TRAUMATIC -
-SLAVE-
-DISORDER-
He's at war with himself
-WILLIE LYNCH-
Vulnerable cause he don't know his lineage
Generational discombobulation
Instilling addiction, rage, & unhappiness
Self Sabotage
Your people made us this way
SAVAGE?
Like Chitown Drilla Music
That's just what we'll be
Coming for you & all you got
Materialistically
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
I wonder where,
Where I call home.
I’m uncomfortable with others,
With their ersatz shallow ways,
Except those few sweet few.
I prefer most my own company
Away from the many,
The contradictions, the confusion, the overload of senses.
Its so much easier that way.
No worry.
Be myself,
Without fear
Of treading on eggshells
Lest I put my foot in it,
once again,
Saying wrong things,
Being judged,
Being criticised.
Just for being.
But I’m lonely too,
That lack of connection,
To others
and myself.
I pretend.
I keep busy.
I have no time to feel.
I pass absently
And joylessly
through a life
Of empty
Disconnection,
Discombobulation,
With a heavy weight upon my back.
Tis sad.
Tis a waste.
Till a fall from sweet grace.
From what we are sent here to do.
Spread love.
Be love.
Love all.
Love you.
Love me.
Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 4:10 AM UTC
You try to reassemble the fragments of the trust you once had.
You collect the pieces without contaminating them with your anger, bitterness, callousness and discombobulation.
You console yourself with memories that aren't tainted with the hurt.
You try...
But you get weary and distant.
And you don't put much effort in the trust you're trying to rebuild.
Because why should you clean up a mess made by someone you love?
May 25, 2022
May 25, 2022 at 3:55 PM UTC
I stare at the mirror and see a broken reflection
Feigning again as she hid her shattered discombobulation
Despite her dampen eyes, nobody seemed to care about her
She seemed covert and invisible
I looked farther and see her smiling
She used to be beautiful, but now she's lying
Her shattered face has gone
She was now okay
I looked closer than the first time I did
And saw what she once terribly hid
An ocean of tears
A river of tears
It was too sad to look at
I can't take it
I can't dare to look any longer
Her eyes
Her broken red eyes
Her smile has melted
Like it never truly existed
She's far too gone
Waiting
Praying
For someone's hand
For someone's help
Or maybe
Just maybe
For her moment
Her death
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 6:39 AM UTC
The little blue teapot was exactly that, small,
enough for a sant two cups of tea
or an almost generous mug
In saying it was blue,
It was a comforting
royal shade,
with a shining glaze
Stoutly round
With a sphere as
the top notch handle
All in all
a cheery
little thing
Cheap
and
utilitarian
How many cups
had it processed:
delivered
with a
drip or dribble,
that was at first annoying,
but
eventually
becoming
an endearing part
of the overall charm of the piece
It would be generous to say
millions;
But
truthful to say
thousands
of
thousands
As the age of the *** was 12+years
of almost continuous service.
In which time
it had been
witness
to every
emotion.
Conversations baring
soul and psyche.
Mental discombobulation
and
emotional acrobatics that would easily gain
employment with
Circe de Soleil
All whilst sitting solidly still
on the table of the day.
The little blue teapot was simply
a background character
in the soap opera
of it's family
and their friends
And
because of this,
It's
sudden
shattering
demise,
upon the slate floor yesterday.
Brings forth this eulogy to an everyday object
Considered
by many
to be just
a thing
But to this family
a treasured piece
of daily routine.
Reached for
with
muscle memory.
A dash of color
at breakfast,
Comfort
on a cold night
A genies lamp
to a
small boy's
growing imagination.
A gift
from
one friend
to
another,
for the
shared cup
of
Russian Caravan Tea
and a chat
that set the world to rights,
at least for another day
or two.
The little blue teapot was exactly that,
Ordinary
But also;
So much more
than it
purported to be.
So...
so
much more.
Nov 3, 2024
Nov 3, 2024 at 11:28 PM UTC