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Willow-Anne Dec 2016
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?”
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
(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
^ See "The Summer Alphabet of Woman (I Speak Woman)"
August 23 2013

lipstadt-man

^^ See "Made the bed backwards"
August 24 2013

^^^  See "Caesar Has No Authority Over The Grammarians"
August 22 2013

^^^^ See "* Acorns in August (Sonata for Summer Cello and Fall Piano, No. 3)" August 19 2013

——————

* Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel

April come she will
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain;
May, she will stay,
Resting in my arms again

June, she´ll change her tune,
In restless walks she´ll prowl the night;
July, she will fly
And give no warning to her flight.

August, die she must,
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold;
September I´ll remember.
A love once new has now grown old

————
Tonya Maria

Tonya Maria  I am a summer-woman,
Because I'm blessed to sit by the sea.
I too display the summer season stretch marks.....
The sea, my lover, owns every inch of me......
Karen Alexander Oct 2009
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.
Poetic T Jun 2018
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.
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
internetgirl Jan 2022
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
A Poet Apr 2020
Take my hand,
Share this moment
        I'll admit
I am afraid.

         Take the plunge
Into the deep
          Let us love without complexities,
straightforwardly.

        Take my hand,
feel my beat,
        feel the sweat
I am scared
        You're scared
but let our hearts beat in-unison
         as we steal stars from the night sky.
  --for our love to shine bright in our discomposure--
ICN Apr 2016
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
//our love was never pure\\
Andrew Guzaldo c Oct 2019
“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
By Andrew Guzaldo © 10/04/2019 Poem#167 Hello Poetry
Kanishka May 2019
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.
Live every moment of your life to the fullest.
Peter Dallas May 2015
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?
Colin Grady Aug 2014
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.
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
Janal Rajput Nov 2019
I hate you, my heart.
Why can't you learn that these feelings you cling to desperately;
Become my greatest enemy, leaving me in helpless ecstasy?
And we can we talk about your taste in men,
How it messes me over again and again-

Because I feel as if you thrive to see my discomposure,
Making my rationality as useless as cannon fodder,
With your fetish for unrequited affection,
It is as if you're blinded and deaf to a any real connection,
Yet you subvert my own rational objections to peruse a love
Rooted in self-doubt and rejection.

My brain caves to the weight of star-crossed lovers you obsess over,
And I know you just ache for him to be here-with us- and I do too,
He's the bridge to our unstable cliff-sides;
But you need to face reality,
Trust my instincts and those bad vibes,
He doesn't care.
God! Things are so tough,
Why can't being alone be enough!?

You know my insecurities caused by the cavalier passion
You place on our sleeve for all deceive,
You alone saw love that was destined to wilt,
How I find it hard to trust someone else,
Expose the shards of my true self.

You just watch as we go head first unconditionally,
Loving with a restless and reckless flippancy,
With the passion of a great symphony,
Me and you aligned perfectly in alluring clarity,
Bursting with delicious divinity,
Achieving beautiful brilliancy,
We see colours in rays of a passionate soliloquy,
Intoxication to your desolation,
All this absolute affection, met with rejection.
I don't want this!
We do not need this!
I can't bear to see you break again,
Because I'm the ones that picks up your messy pieces,
Nurses your bruises and heals your diseases,
Unleashes adhesive to stick you back in the hole in my chest-
Hoping the aching will stop if you get some rest.

The distance you feel towards him yeah it makes me depressed,
It messes with my mind, makes me so stressed,
Wondering why are you so sentimental
To boys that treat you as if you were a devil
Can't you see we have better things that we could be?
Maybe focusing on that degree,
You'd rather pull me into your warped reality:
Gentle kisses,
Notions of chivalry,
Walks across ******* beaches,
The smell of his skin,
Eyes tearing my soul to pieces,
Love with all its villainy.
You never told me, though, that this was all merely imagery,
Soon fades like a Polaroid with antiquity...

I hate you, my heart,
I can't control you,
I never could,
I'm petrified of the heartbreak you threaten to bring on us,
Your desire the epicenter to an earthquake that will shake these worn in bones...
Please don't lead us into cold decay,
For once let's keep your passions at bay and notions of love away,
For I fear this time,
We will both have a price to pay.
This is about the classic fight between one's heart and mind and how subsequently my heart's bad decisions with boys come with scathing comments from my mind.
Khaab Nov 2020
An unconventional fear takes over my heart
As I think about growing old...
They say nothing is more powerful than the death
All the discomposure drifts away.
And it's as calm as a
quill felling from above.

But the fact that
A day when my voice won't echo in my room
A day when my books and diaries would be abandoned
A day when me and my family won't be together
A day when I won't exist...
scares me.

I begin to knit myself in the wool of promises
Promises of a life...valuable
But then...I see people around me
Whether old or young, who met death like lost friends
And there again...I am left in a dilemma.

Is there a promise for tomorrow?
I wrote this when me and my sister had a conversation about us getting old...it scared me...So I feel like cherishing every moment with every loved one...I also got inspired by Emily Dickinson's 'Because I could not stop for death....'
Denis Barter Nov 2020
Oft times of late, throughout the day,
I  wonder, if somehow I’ve lost my way,
as day after day, hours slip quickly by,
and well laid plans seemingly go awry?
Despite intent, I accomplish naught,
except indulgence in a passing thought.

On awakening, aware day has dawned,
I remain recumbent, as schemes spawned
overnight race pell-mell through my head,
whilst I analyse their merits.  Lying abed
allows me to focus upon the possibility
that some, ever dependant upon my ability,

may be suited for a new poetic exercise?
But all too soon, I see it is time to rise,
so thought is put aside for there’s no time
to sit and consider composing a  rhyme.
Though opportunity knocks, I must dress
and be about my daily chores. Doubtless

all memory of what I proposed to do
will disappear, but this is nothing new,
for age determines memory is fleeting.
Thoughts that can set our muse beating
vanish long before opportunity arrives
and today will be as others in our lives

of late, as we live our ‘elder’ years.
As memory fails, laughter and tears
often allow us to cover our chagrin
and discomposure, but soon we begin
to find, as memory diminishes more,
amusement wanes, and we deplore

our weakness, and inwardly retreat
further into ourselves, afraid to meet
others to socialise. When seen bemused
by vague memory, some are amused
as we desperately scramble to find
rationale within our incoherent mind.

For inability to recall a familiar name
or maintain a train of thought, I blame
advancing years, as do we all at times.
Still I will persist in composing rhymes,
when I remember what it is I would say,
and my concentration does not stray!

Rhymer.  November 14th, 2020.
Despite what one may think when we're young, age does wither!  All too soon.
Covid 19 social distancing, does not help either .  A time when the telephone
proves its worth.  Denis.
Laura Nov 2022
(She’s here.)
Sitting patiently at your door,
the day you left your keys,
when the lights got left on,
and the closest fell open
(with your discomposure).
She's the equity collector,
the moral police,
and every cut led to retribution.
(It’s bleeding out.)
You never liked my poems,
so for me, it's all just poetic justice.
Karma tastes too sweet,
like my boyfriend’s oat milk lattes,
the sun between the trees,
and my three rough degrees.
(It’s never been easy.)
Flatter me with evil genius -
but I take no part,
i’ve only been cleaning my conscious,
taking out the garbage,
and making your bed,
(so why don’t you just lay in it?)

— The End —