"discomposure" poems
(Inspired by and dedicated to John Edward Smallshaw, and his "Spice")
I am a summer-man,
Because I'm blessed to sit by the sea.
Let it and the other two Musketeers,
boon companions to me,
Sun and Wind,
erase my discomposure as I
reside in the Poet's Nookery.
Let them have almost
all that troubles,
but not all.
I am a summer-man.
On the bay, on the beach,
I see birth, I see death,
osprey nests, carcasses of
mussels and horseshoe *****
This, somehow reassuring,
the cycles,
this circularity,
the tides and inevitability.
I am a summer-man.
Student of languages seasonal,
Peaches, plums, cherries, poetry
and loving Woman.^
This, the summer alphabet-soup
of my multiple tongues.
I am a summer-man.
Sancerre and Pinot Gris, super cold,
Paul Simon, Nina Simone,
with proper aging,
getting hotter,
Salsa and Afrikaner hints,
super louder,
Even "Still Crazy After All These Years,"
that-who-wud-be-me,
chills outer.^^
I am a summer-man.
When ever this lad's writes appear,
it proves once again,
there is no truth that his
name was once Dr. Seuss
In a prior life, even if
each is signed by
Ogdiddy Nash**
I am a summer-man.
**Disrespectful of the calendar,
if I can, try to make
summer season stretch-marks from
May to October.
I would add April,
but the IRS is already
****** at me.^^^
Though the cherry blossoms of May
now gone away,
the lilies of June
arrive, but but for a week or two,
soon, like my mom, withered away.
Acorns in August^^^^ have arrived too swiftly.**
This summer, beloved,
and love of summer,
deep-rooted.
Season of my Peter Pan Poetry Galore Festival.
A love, incapable, impossible, of ever
growing old, ever growing cold,
it cannot wither.
It is summer heat reminders exposed,
how it misses its man,
that hide in the flames of
the teasing, popping, reminding
Winter fireplace's crackling popping***
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
There’s no other choice but to wear them,
The drawer offered nothing but these.
An odd pair of socks might be quirky,
Odd sizes don’t normally please.
The one at my ankle was spotted,
The other was striped to the knee
The latter two sizes the smaller,
The former quite large by degree.
This mismatch I thought to keep secret
And cover the dissonant pair.
I chose from the wardrobe some trousers
And shoes, with considerable care.
My ruse would conceal the divergence
From prescribed social standards of dress
And none would be any the wiser
My discomfort I’d have to suppress.
Now, it’s harder to mask discomposure
When physical pain has attacked.
The small sock had cramped my toes tightly
That blood didn’t flow, was a fact.
My colleagues regarded me strangely
For they could see nothing amiss
But I could feel cold perspiration,
Anxiety I couldn’t dismiss.
It was then that I felt a strange itching,
The striped sock began to descend
And round my right ankle it wrinkled
And bulged at the trouser leg end.
Dismayed at my great consternation
But clueless to what was awry
My friends made comforting gestures
Need of which I could only deny.
The moral of this story’s transparent
Socks are always best worn as a pair
Their nature is in the relationship
Which provides a well-balanced air.
And take the trouble to remember
Be congruent in all that you do
For disparity will often bring discord
And that path, you’ll certainly rue.
Oct 11, 2009
Oct 11, 2009 at 6:43 AM UTC
In times of crisis or trouble
I’m the one that keeps it together
When the world's crashing around me
I remain everybody’s tether
“Hey are you alright?”
I offer words of comfort
I tell them: ‘all will be okay’
No matter what the problem is
I have something positive to say
“You know…. its okay to be upset”
‘I’m fine’, I tell them all
When things happen in my life
Everyone around me is impressed
That I’ve overcome another strife
“Just keep hanging in there”
The truth is no one knows
That this is how I cope
I hide behind the happy mask
So I can give others hope
“You’re taking this…really well”
But somewhere along the way
I lost track of how I feel
I even tricked myself into thinking
That my happiness was real
“Are….are you sure you’re okay?”
But I can feel my façade cracking
Emotions are breaking through
I don’t have any distractions
And I don’t know what to do
“But..if you’re really okay…”
I force my smile even bigger
And laugh without knowing why
I’ll do whatever I have to do
To maintain this beautiful lie
“…then why are you crying?”
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 3:26 AM UTC
Starless eyes
Ragged and forbidding
Teeth of tears
Flamed and striped for fear
The flesh is an illusion
Repugnant as it is revealed
Savage winds carry me away
Constrains me when I die
The curse of annihilation's
In circles I can't keep
A shroud that stifles the delicate truth
The departed in white discomposure
In pain I flee
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC
You watch his tired eyes and matted hair
A paper coffee cup, an unfinished poem
He is inside the trappings of a panoply
Twitching a calloused finger towards discomposure
Watching as what is not there makes itself ever more present
Staring as moth wings of yearning marry the air
Letters scarce and doubt plentiful
Despondence is the new norm
The next day his seat is empty
A stranger takes his place
You watch her tired eyes and matted hair
Jan 6, 2022
Jan 6, 2022 at 9:18 PM UTC
its distorted your brain
and now we're both insane
you're drowning in your whiskey
and i'm drowning in the pain
call me when you're sober
baby text me when it's over
the high says that you love me
i'm in constant discomposure
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:40 AM UTC
“Eradicate the acrimony that has ensued,
And its subtle entrenched nucleus inward,
Lionize that was this bitterness within you,
That sad agony has cajoled in your heart,
Embrace the cognizance that healed the essence,
Hold all that boundless that made your aura right,
Bring out the recognition of all your aegis,
Push aside the despondency of the discomposure,
Sunshine will Nurture the well-being of your soul within,
Nonsensical as it may seem it is the catalyst placebo,
It is the manner that you will adhere to your dreams,
Love will be the satisfactory in your laughter,
You will postulate all your dreams now imminent,
All the people that you believed in and loved,
To that every tear you have cried due to rancor,
May hamartia now be the canticle of Utopian chimera?”
By Andrew Guzaldo © 10/04/2019 Poem#167
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 5:06 PM UTC
Though the lamp burns
all I see is the brightness before me,
yet I never watch the shadows of woe
that this light expels.
For within illumination
there is always things that even though
illuminated we shield our eyes from.
For every footstep may be seen,
but still we tread over the footsteps
of others shielding eyes.
For we may follow others paths,
but there are still stones
that are never read upon.
For every smooth path hides the weeds,
to ashamed to walk upon.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 6:22 PM UTC
Today I suffered discomposure,
Tomorrow world may bring order.
But I don't postpone my satisfaction.
For time once lost, can't be gained over.
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 4:08 PM UTC
Standing there, gazing
Keeping patience in contrast
Adjust the lines beyond black
Stretching outward the fingers
Sensing unable to touch
Feel
Remain
A meaningless era
Frozen inside a halo aflame
Moving sideways
Humming to correlate
The wonder, the loss
Stochastic patterns formless
Kneel under pressure
Speak
Yearn
Silencing violent acts
Cloudburst born in a chest
Fathomless
In this shapeless pool
Trying not to drown
This level’s rising higher
A momentary constraint
Reach
Listen
Eyes connected to heart
Inundation betwixt and between
Forward and way ahead
Deafening voices alarming
No traces left to fabricate
A story that needs to be told
Jostling away the innuendos
Grieve
Gone
Trembling hands betray
A gale that builds discomposure up
Why don’t you ever turn?
Why don’t you ever look back?
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
Your words leave a laceration
in my mind, which i cannot alleviate from thought
Your look leaves me stunned
followed by a stern black sea of peering eyes
Your smell is a musky mixture.
demanding, and powerful.
To the touch, Your skin is a sun-worn leather
Tan, hide. deep ridges of past seasons.
A taste in my mouth, words afoot
The buds pulsing with static.
Teacher, you have taught
me only discomposure.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
Someone could be perfect for you
And you could be beautiful together
Someone could be your paradox
And make your blood boil
Someone could make you feel calm
And safe.
Someone could make you melt
With discomposure
But when weighing the pros and cons
None of this matters
Love chooses for us
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC