"discomforts" poems
Aunt Lottie had a slow and careful walk
every step could jar
the delicate balance
of the fragile grand piano
she had swallowed.
It was no ordinary instrument
it was entirely made of crystal
which added to the fears
of its disturbance
or destruction
by the simplest slip or stumble
or missed footing on a step.
It was a slight inconvenience
she had taken in her stride.
Matters concerning the said piano
were only discussed in hushed tones
on Wednesday afternoons
and only with her dearest nephew, Ludwig
who sensitively seemed to understand
the precious nature of imagination
and the tickling discomforts
of digested furniture and such things
as fancy may create.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
The fearless ones
are fanning out
into the woods.
Others are huddled
in smartly constructed
camouflaged blinds.
These self styled
eco-warriors
brave the cold
and the discomforts
of inclement weather.
They keep a
watchful eye
over the stale
remains of
Dunkin Donuts,
bagels and
bacon grease
they cleverly
scattered
outside their
deadly bivouac.
These bold ones
eagerly finger the
barrels of their high
powered rifles,
palming the smooth
wooden stocks with
warm naked hands.
They itch to squeeze
the trigger but discipline
and fortitude inform
the vigilance of these
sentinels of sustainability.
They philosophically muse
about restorative balance
and the paradox of killing
in order to survive.
Another day has broken
over the New Jersey Highlands.
The hunt for bear is on.
Let the mammalian cleansing begin.
jbm
Oakland
12/6/10
Music Suggestion: Radiohead, Hunting Bears
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 9:02 AM UTC
imagine reaching deep into yourself,
past any sense of doubt or regret,
and reliving what made you -you-.
saturday mornings when your dad
cut grass and expected help he didn't ask for while bacon and eggs waited
in the kitchen,
or sundays where evening cartoons robbed you, so you wished
for extra sleep before sermons
and trips to CVS.
or holidays alone because jobs
are demanding, and it won't happen
again next year, where stillness forms into repression,
fueled by discomforts, angsts,
sadness.
and it isn't until much later
that the light of your own existence
takes root, petals up toward the sun,
and chooses to flourish.
Jun 26, 2023
Jun 26, 2023 at 2:04 AM UTC
At the end of the day, much has been done
Some of it work, and some of it fun
But now is the time to lie down and sleep
Into my head all thoughts seem to seep
Abundant energy I have found
Enough to get up, to leap, to bound
But due to the time, to my bed I’m confined
And to all possible dreams I remain blind
As I lie I review my day
Thinking of things in a different way
But I do not tarry, quickly I move on
To days that are both short and long gone
Then I think of things not yet done
Making plans that seem to be jumping the gun
All this runs in circles through my head
As I shift uncomfortably in my bed
Soon I realize that part of what discomforts me
Is that you are not as close as I would like you to be
In fact I wish you were here to be a calming presence
To settle my brain, to give my breathing a gentle cadence
Were you here in my arms I know I would sleep
For I would have my love, as you have mine to keep
I would hold you close as if to ward off theft
Of you from my life, which would leave me bereft
Thank god I still have you in my life
Yet I am alone through this strife
All this thinking and wishing, leaves me feeling alone
For it all comes to nothing, but the emptiness has grown
Though all this I’m just trying to say
I love you, and miss you, and can’t sleep by the way
And this poem was written and thoroughly refined
By the errant thoughts of this restless mind
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 4:41 AM UTC
.
i wake before the others
betraying the family bed
conduct domestic procedure
(the sun has yet to rise and punish)
the rooms are illuminated with the city dim
projected from streetlight in
a dossing grain of orange
wiltered by the sheets
we use to cower our windows
in this near light i go to spread a morning meal
a tray of fruit, yogurt and breakfast biscuits
i bring it too our low living room table
but Abrupt !
there is a form occupying the table
i scout for a spot to place my wares
put the tray / direct contact / the floor
and make a closer examination
on the table
it is a soldier boy simple life spent out
this warrants artificial light
i pull the cord on the corner lamp
in a glimpse of eyes the bulb pops dead
i know i won't meet result this way
its a brain pattern going on i determine
and remove shrouding from a street view
orange wash lends to the olive uniform
both hands hitched
to his webbing in the middle of his chest
helmet discomforts his head turned to a side
eyes yelling a relaxed nothing
no surprise to his ****** features
boots that haven't even made mud yet
this is clean but for the blood reduction
a syrup for his presentation
no fooling and there is.. the gun
the child in me and the child in him want it
he makes seventeen at most
and it is now i feel
when i see the device
war oversees
makes international the weather
May 16, 2024
May 16, 2024 at 1:27 PM UTC
I am scared.
Don't hold me
It will make me look
Like a scared viking
I don't know if they existed
But I don't want to be the first of the kind
So take pleasure
In my discomforts
And leave me alone
When I am scared.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
I remember Mondays in Coach Mac's class. How I loathed yet loved this occurrence. During the period of poetry, each student was asked to write one of their own and read them aloud in class. To write your feelings, your thoughts, onto lined paper and stand in class constructed spot light, asked to peel the skin off of your body to display.
Others mastered the art of avoidance. Of detachment. They often wrote about how fall was coming or an ode to another classmate. But I was never good at running. So I wrote. Not of happiness because he is a stranger to me. I wrote of what I've known for the past five years of my life.
They told me I had talent. And each Monday they anticipated the moment that I would stand up and read.
They wanted to hear my words. They wanted to know the hopelessness of depression and the consuming sadness that I have only known. They hung on to every syllable of my heartbreak and every stroke of ink of my depression. They wanted to know. They wanted to hear. They held on because I wrote words that discomforts, subjects tucked under the rug. I wrote about the raw experiences they themselves could not verbalize. Yet they were familiar.
They wanted the words from someone else's mouth.
They fell in love with my depression but they never wanted to help.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
An empty drinking glass is pressed against a wall; amplifying the voices on the other side. My ear is pressed to the words, ”outside is a secret key” - I can honestly say, “I hear…" Your words, idealizations, sentiments, selected scrawls of graffiti-type promise and viewpoints echo through the wall. Over and over. Championing outsiders…
Are there WALLS WITHIN WALLS? Can we walk through them? ARE THE WALLS ERASABLE? Will the walls tumble down? Will the walls polarize? WHAT ABOUT CRACKS IN THE WALLS? Can they hear? Can we leap over them?
DO WE build them where everything and anything follows and flows?
DO WE build them where something's nothingness tethers vapors with souls?
DO WE build them so molecular melodies of light and dark can collide unopposed?
Are these word walls of dust? Can we move them? Can you angle between these walls? Will the walls speak a wealth of quiet surprises, poems, and meditations? Do walls give birth to improvisation?
Now some of these walls, in their moment are with no rules, self-constructed, circling dramatically, and might prove more resistant to erosion. These are often troubling walls, no voice, no strength of decency, no laughter, which place freedom at stake. That and survival. One can be easily manipulated or yanked by an image of the truth swirling in the brick blackness of the wall. Discomforts relish now. Walls such as these are very deep-rooted and passed on for generations. Yet even those barriers eventually give way once we read the super fine print etched into the wall - a word salad of B.S., idiocy and hypocrisy.
Reach for spray-paint and enlarge your wall… maybe it enhances your world now with colored aerosols of wall portraiture's that capture rebellion and mirth. So many Walls, AND SO MANY QUERIES…
I heard a poem say, “Step out from behind one (wall) and FIND YOUR REAL SELF” – or maybe it whispered “jus walk through that door in the wall.”
Your tightly strung trampoline of words has provided a springboard for me to bounce freely over the many walls we build around ourselves.
by "ooznozz"
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 9:06 PM UTC
Expand.
Enlarge.
People won’t find
Much…
They veer off
The meaning.
They are lost.
Blinded.
By own Choice.
As I’m blinded
Too.
Swallow sand.
Painful.
Gnashing of teeth.
Skin ripped
In Stripes…
Nerves over-excited.
Dilated pupils
Wander desperately.
Hopelessly blinded.
Impaled.
Salivation
Exacerbated.
Breathing at an
unbearable pace.
Do you want to truly terrify a man?
Expand his world.
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 1:29 AM UTC
I come from a place
Directed by a man with no front teeth
Who exhales sticky sweet smoke.
I come from a place
Where sobriety is not a default.
Where bad attitude is justified by the number of weeks clean.
I come from a place
That holds words like
methodone clinic
weaning
tapering
crank
I come from a place
where my mental health
is less important
than his.
I come from a place
Where my mother shouts at me,
"It's his fifth week, you have to expect something like this!"
"He's not in the right state of mind right now, let it go!"
"Temper tantrums are to be expected!"
I come from a place
That he leaves.
He goes to
the office
the gas station
get coffee
Because the initials N and A have
become ***** as he becomes clean.
I come from a place
Where addiction is the only "real" mental illness to them.
Where the sounds of pills falling down the drain
are matched with tears falling down a tired woman's face.
(Make that two)
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 10:02 AM UTC
cold autumn waters
rushing its way
underneath my feet
weaving through
toe to toe
slicing
hacking its way
through the legs of my seat--
so naturally shining
the reflected beams
of sunlight
knew how to pick
which stream
of which inch
of which hairline
of the river
to show oh so clearly
straight into my eyes--
this was exactly how
i remembered
the words flowing
singing and dancing
all so merrily in my mind.
and yet
--silence--
i sit and stew
in the comfort of my room--
the fan spews nonesense
whispering frigid sweet nothings
it distracts me
so i turn it off.
the light shone too brightly
showing me far far too much
it annoys me
so i turned it down.
the natural sounds
the allure of the wild
the little chirps and peeps
and the babble of the brooks
i remember none of them
sounding like the clicks and clacks
that i hear with every press of my finger
and every character i delete
it discomforts me
i took a deep breath.
and another.
closing my eyes
i still saw a faint red through it's thin lid
i tried to picture
the same magical world
i used to write in
back when i was a bard
and everything
the light touches
would be my kingdom
my muse.
and i smiled...
all my vivid recollections
the people and worlds i breathed life to
the words that used to be so so alive
it all felt empty
so i opened my eyes
and tried to write again--
Jan 14, 2022
Jan 14, 2022 at 7:56 PM UTC
He was destructively rememberable and i blame it on the echo
that fell from his lips everytime i made him smile
It would elegantly fly around in unspoken discomforts then
land on my ears in the form of a
goodbye
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
ornate key to souls lockbox
kept by the old man
who sweeps the scattered leaves and mends the bent stones
his leather skin makes a sandpaper sound
and is tattooed with sea charts and mythical creatures
he is wearing the ornate key on golden chain
as he gropes his way down to the
courtyard where she is watching the stars
she devours his footsteps with her mind
and the trail of dust he disturbed salts the meal
she drinks of his liquid thoughts
their hot wet deep waters
as he works head held low
on the marble steps with wrought iron
sweeping up the dusty words
left by the shuffling of a thousand year students
who studied the discomforts and glories of the pen
as the soft sounds of her labor echo
she crafts rowboats of pewter to sail upon the metal sea
she builds metal men from a tin foiled
armed with swords to reap the harvest
she devises monks out of steel
their eyes an assembly of gears
fill the world with the small metal sound
of her blue eye looking out upon wicked world
as dawn stretches an aching red upon the sky
she lay in the old mans arms
watching her armada sailing the metal sea
watching her army of tin foiled men
their metal gear eyes forever looking to the stars
their dull grey skin echo dawns light
like regret
they have always been here
her and the old man
by the shore of a metal sea
in a tower of stone
building dreamlands from the chaff of seeds
that drifts down like grey snow
from the world high above
life from the ashes
someday that life will stand in summer sunlight
dance in october's moonlight
someday
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
Its so crazy how different cultures are from each other but still you can find things that are similar. And adapting to a new place or environment like different comforts discomforts and conditions you have to get used to
Clothes and languages and hand movements and head movements ****** expressions food
So like this whole concept of countries and flying and how FAR everything is and how expensive and how there are so many people I miss but like they're so far away like there's always someone far away from me that I miss and just like trying to figure out where would be a good place for me and how to get there and ******* money.. GIVES ME SO MUCH ANXIETY
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 4:08 PM UTC
There's a place
Growing in the back of
My head.
The bricks are watered
By discomforts and
Depression.
The Windows are
Sprouted
In earth composed of a mixture of
Anxiety and PTSD.
I want a home where
Your shadows
Are as familiar to the walls
As a spouse.
Where you can hide,
But feel like you don't have to.
I want your peels of laughter
To litter my living room
Floor,
Your smiles to stain
My ceiling fans,
And your tears to fill my kitchen
Sink.
I want a home
Of grace and charity
Where I can protect the broken
And pained.
The image is growing in
The back of my head,
The need is rooted in my skull.
The blasting heat
Of your parent's anger,
Is the sun
For it's photosynthesis.
We can have midnight
Conversations
At the kitchen table,
Where you can
Unscrew the bolts in your
Iron
Armor
And let loose the demons
You've been trapped with,
To burn in our
hot water heater.
There's a place I want for you,
A home cultivated by
Your brother and I,
A loving hideaway
For Grace and Charity.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
Looking forward
With gratitude
Someday
You will
Post your pain
Post the cries
Post the sufferings
Post the discomforts
Post the failures
Post the bends
Post the hell
That's how
One understands
Your
Effort
Energy
Courage
Patience
How you raised
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 10:27 AM UTC
What is sleep,
In the end?
Smoke rises
As eyelids fall
A wrinkled space
between my eyebrows,
counts the doses
and takes them all
What is waking,
In the end?
The fog of
a forgotten dream,
The shallow breathe
Of weariness,
Or the tea kettle,
Shrieking without rest
What is love,
In the end?
Musing the discomforts
And trains in the distance,
The taste of cheap coffee
And persistence..
Your name dances on my tongue
Like dust
In my eyes
The end is near
The controlled chaos
Is what brought us here
This mural of
Sleep, wake, love
has paint
chipping off the edges.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 6:28 AM UTC
I feel that sharp, painful, bitter feeling crippling through my blood and bones
Sending shivers down my spine
Something missing from my heart
Longing
Brain disconnecting from reality
Chocking on my own thoughts and memories
Deep sadness
Regret
Shifts
The sweetness
The laughs
The fun
Learning and experiencing
All those special places
And faces
The disrespect
The chaos
The betrayals and discomforts
Unforgettable things
Moments gone in time
A big mash of feelings; good and bad; and happy and sad.
Empty closets
Furniture disappearing by the day
Memories and accessories packed away in a hurry
Oblivion
Home is nowhere to be found.
A sorrowful goodbye.
And in all that mess I've managed to let him step on what was left of my dignity and use my fragile feelings.
And I will never get to say what I needed to.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 1:03 PM UTC
nothing comes to mind any more
everything goes and moves faster
too fast to catch, an unavoidable crash
we've clashed and separated, broken
another love for another life
whether we were ever friends
is the question
even though you prayed, "friends forever"
silence discomforts the demons within you
so you hum and sing and talk about nothing
to collapse whatever comfort my angels live in
you'd rather see me withering, wilted
so much beauty in death! so much beauty...
I tap my teeth together, click
I clench my jaw, tick tick
I clench my fist, thick tricks....
lying again, you're lying again
and I cry in your presence
salt water spelling out "stop this"
I bite my lips when I wanna kiss
tortured souls with tender hearts
can't mend one if the other is falling apart
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
How does one openly share
With many strangers in a room
All the atrocities and scars
That mark your impending doom
Always leading with the heart
Has left it broken and rather dead
Causing the mind to eventually take over
Numbing you down to invisibility instead
Simply wishing to fade away
Into vast webs of silent misery
While a boisterous and opposing point of view
Keeps aiming for your victory
Strong-armed, not so gently, into a situation
That leaves you stripped down, sullen, and bare
Brings about complete and utter discomforts
All of which, you hope no one is aware
Longing for some connection
Though fearful of the start
Freezes you into a silence
Unable to be of any part
Your tongue becomes sluggishly thick
Appearing knotted, twisted, and tied
Oblivious to the surroundings
While your brain is quietly being fried
Amid the haze, a courageous voice is heard
sharing pieces of a story
With similarities to that of your own
Sending reassurance throughout a weary head
That there is no longer a need to feel so lost and alone
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
Sanctity of success comes from overcoming discomforts of hard labor
By - Venkat Raghavan
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
Oh all the have demon's left
for when with her my life does changed
again slipping the loop to live again
burning bridges like a lamb lost from home
I think of her like on dark matter
now without her, my life would be shattered
Oh the pain of won't
that touch of flesh
that time I can hold her
and not hug my pillow
Oh such twins we are
like aliens from another star
and boy do I love her
like not then any other
I am in a state of grace
so out of the human race
that girl has got me bad
and without her love I would be sad
Been burnt from space
called a God by the exceptional race
but I hide in the reeds
and wait for my sister angels
Oh sing city of song for soon I leave you
rot in the discomforts of your own doing
so such a proud wonderful
now brought down to ruins
Oh selfishness and greed
it had become the demon seed
and you may want to wallow in lies
but my sweet countryman I must fly
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
Maria Messier, a registered nurse turned entrepreneur based in Clifton Park, said she has “created a solution to a “growing” problem.”
Though she has been a nurse for 15 years, Messier said she has always had “an entrepreneurial mind.” After having four children and experiencing the discomforts of pregnancy during harsh northeastern winters, Messier decided to come up with her own solution to a problem pregnant women have been dealing with for ages — how to make your winter coat fit as you grow through your pregnancy, without buying a huge coat you won’t ever wear again.
She realizes maternity coats are nice, but noted not everyone can afford to buy a new coat for their pregnancy. “They are expensive and are used for such a short time,” she said.
She calls it the Extendher and it can be used during pregnancies and after for holding your baby hands-free. It is an extending panel which clips onto outerwear with a zipper. According to their website, the product has adjustable pull toggles to ensure a great fit throughout each stage of pregnancy.
Having experienced the frustrations of coats that refused to zip first-hand, Messier began to wonder why something like the Extendher did not already exist. She shared the idea with her aunt, Joanne Frank of Schenectady, at a family gathering. Frank, who worked as a fashion designer for 40 years, told her niece, “You are on to something,” and agreed to create the first prototype.
“After many tweaks and changes, our final extendher was born,” said Messier.
She said the best part is that you can still use the product after having a baby by using it as a baby carrier. The Extendher is not only for expectant mothers, but can also be worn by fathers, grandparents and babysitters. Messier said “Babywearing is huge right now, so customers really love this option.” The Extendher comes in a variety of colors. Heavyweight and lightweight options are available for different seasons.
The business, Extendher LLC, became official in 2015. Messier said their product has been featured on Elaine Houston’s “Today’s Women” on News Channel 13, WNYT.
“Most importantly,” said Messier, “we are 100 percent made in the USA, manufactured in upstate NY.” The Extendhers are being manufactured in Little Falls, New York.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
you claim that there never has been a Creator or ever will be,
but tell me why this supposedly nonexistent God can never escape your lips?
your thoughts and dreams all are consumed by Him, sure a denial of Him but yet you find Him never really leaving,
indeed something nonexistent could never occupy anything if it is not yet- in the quietness of our fading time- the mere thought of His Omniscient Presence discomforts you.
oh i pray you may but look up to see how The Triune Fire is in your very midst- indeed, giving you the ability to even breathe- yet you use it to blaspheme.
foolish yet understandable to our nature- know this, it will not be long if you are His- He will not hesitate to bring you Home
oh foolish one- come Home.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 4:25 AM UTC